


Neighbor Alligator

by inkbert



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Avengers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Food, Music, Neighbors, Plants, Prickly Cactus People Find Love, handyman bucky, lady friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-14 11:42:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 67,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11782416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkbert/pseuds/inkbert
Summary: Bucky Barnes discovers the gorgeous dame next door, and also that she thinks he's the worst neighbor ever. He sets out to clear his name and suddenly his life of therapy appointments and workouts includes competitive pizza making classes, maintaining favorite customer status at the coffee shop down the street, more thrift stores than he ever wanted to know about, and somewhere along the way he loses his heart. Too bad Darcy isn't willing to let go of the whole 'worst neighbor' thing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, friends. This one got away from me. It did not proceed in a linear fashion at all. I've looked at it so much that it's a jumble of words. But it's done! Hooray. I hope you enjoy it. And to the people who have been commenting on my fics, keeping my inbox full despite five months of not posting anything new, a special thank you. You all inspired me to get back on here last week and finally finish this thing up and post.
> 
> Certainlynotcricket and moseyrosie beta'd and prodded and encouraged, I wish upon them the best of books, good hair days, and many, many delicious cold beverages.

Dr. Calderon had been right about a lot of things. Bucky could admit that, on good days. Maybe even on bad days. Is he better off now than he was when he woke up in Wakanda? Yeah.

Things aren’t as tangled up in there, he understands the “why” of a lot more.

He knows he should separate the pain and regret he feels at the knowledge of what he’s done,  _ what his hands have done _ , from the pain and regret he feels for other things, things that he’s  _ actually _ responsible for. 

Sometimes, he even manages to do it.

A year of appointments, and he can sometimes spend a couple days walking with his head held high. He’s got enough technical jargon to fill a book, so he can label his reactions, his thoughts, his moods, his existence.

And look. Look, he’s out. Like Dr. Calderon and Stevie had wanted. He goes out with dames, and they’re both so damned happy. In different ways. Dr. Calderon in that way she has, kind of smug and knowing, like Bucky is plodding along on some path only she can see. Steve, like maybe Bucky,  _ his  _ Bucky, is finally coming back. 

See, there are things he has to do. The United States government has its say. That’s why Bucky goes to see Dr. Calderon in the first place, in that fancy office on Shadwick and Renhauer, to sit next to her collection of watery paintings of gardens. It was one of the conditions for his not being in Uncle Sam’s custody.

Dr. Calderon has her say. There have been dream journals, months where he did three-a-weeks with her, mandated no-Steve days, and all kinds of other shit.

And then Steve has his say. Not like the others. No. Steve just suggests something, and then kind of looks at Bucky. Concerned, hopeful, but supportive no matter what. And Bucky has never been able to let Steve down.

Uncle Sam could care less about Bucky going out on the town. But both Steve and Dr. Calderon are all about it. So Bucky started picking dames up when waiting for the walk sign at the crosswalk on his morning jog (Dr. Calderon had mandated at least one outdoor activity per week, two months after he’d begun seeing her, and he actually liked it), in line down at the Tower cafeteria, and in the cereal aisle at the grocery store.

He meets them for coffee (a favorite now, apparently, though it doesn’t seem much like a date to Bucky), takes them to dinner, once dancing. He’s even gone home with a few of them.

Tonight, he’s in no mood to pretend, and he’d walked poor Anna, an acquisitions specialist at a gallery near Dr. Calderon’s office, to a cab after a dinner that had stretched on and on. These days there’s a lot of anonymity to dating, so Bucky hadn’t any idea of where she lived, which meant he couldn’t even send her some flowers to make up for his poor showing. Then he’d ducked into a sports bar he’d found down a narrow set of stairs. It’s near the Tower, a bit dingy, and people keep to themselves. Which suits Bucky’s current needs pretty damn perfectly.

He’s had more than he should, but it’s not like Steve is here to disapprove or worry.

And yes, Dr. Calderon, Bucky did realize Steve’s absence was affecting him.

The woman acts like Bucky shouldn’t worry. Bucky had tried to explain Steve’s recklessness and stubbornness and lack of regard for his own safety. He could tell from her expression that she wasn’t buying it.

_ Tough shit, lady _ , Bucky thinks, leaning against the elevator wall and pressing the button for his floor. If there’s a harebrained theory, she’s applied it to Bucky and Steve. Six months back, their bond had been hyper-everything under the sun. Then Bucky was using Steve as some kind of proxy, that so long as Bucky could keep Steve safe, Bucky himself would feel like he’d protected some theorized sheltered piece of himself that he refuses to acknowledge. And just a few months ago, Bucky was avoiding the risk of living life himself and instead was living vicariously through Steve. 

That’s one area Bucky just doesn’t give a flying fuck about. Maybe friendship is different now, maybe war had twisted his with Steve, but Bucky isn’t changing it.

Steve hadn’t seemed too enthusiastic about Dr. Calderon’s new favorite focus either. And usually Steve is all about giving whatever the fuck it is a try.

Dr. Calderon doesn’t feel comfortable considering (she’s always so careful to say  _ consider _ ) giving Bucky the okay for the field until he has a handle on his emotions and reactions concerning Steve. Until he has other people and things in his life that add meaning.

Bucky doesn’t get what’s so hard to understand. He’s not gonna feel better about Stevie when the punk keeps going out in the field without Bucky on his six. When he keeps coming back banged up and with bullet holes in him.

The elevator reaches Bucky’s floor, the one he shares with Steve; though lately, on Dr. Calderon’s advice, Steve hasn’t been around much. Bucky steps off it and braces one hand on the wall.

The floor tilts, then rights itself. He’s still getting used to drinking. The serum makes it hard to get drunk, all the way up until it doesn’t.

He passes Steve’s door, rattling off a knock just for the sake of it. Despite the fact that Steve has been in DC with Sam for weeks, it pisses him the fuck off when the door remains shut, the apartment behind it silent.

_ Unreasonable expectations _ , Dr. Calderon’s voice chides in his head.  _ Emotional response out of proportion to the situation _ .

Bucky nods along with her, even as his anger grows. Knowing his emotions run away from him doesn’t stop them from doing it. He keeps moving, intent on finding someplace both vaguely appropriate and horizontal to crash. 

The last thing he needs is this alligator with his fucking cactus judging him. Bucky groggily looks down at the porcelain eyes. The alligator sits on the edge of an oversized welcome mat, all at home and smug about it.

The fuck? Bucky knows this guy.

Bucky hunkers down and feels along the nose. Sure enough, there’s a ridge from where the nose had been broken off by Bucky’s boot when he’d been roped into helping to move the heaviest, ugliest couch in the entire state of New York.

For a second, the urge to throw the fucker fills him. Then the nose breaks off again in his hand, and he feels a sobering sting. Blood immediately wells and spills over where the porcelain had sliced his palm and two of his fingers.

“You are the worst neighbor ever.”

Bucky drops the alligator and wheels around.

It’s Boobs, the intern. At least, that’s what Tony had called her. Bucky knows better than to call her that.

“Boobs.”  _ Damn it. _

Blue eyes narrow dangerously. Bucky holds up his hands in surrender, and almost tips over.

“I hate you,” she says, and then she pushes him. He nearly lands face first on the pink rug just inside her apartment. When the hell did the door open?

Then Bucky sees the couch. That bastard. That green monstrosity, his old friend. He’s ignoring whatever she’s saying behind him, he’s already zoned in, prepped for landing.

He racks his shin against the coffee table and face plants, already halfway out as something rattles and breaks behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Darcy stares in disbelief at the snoring oversized jerk practically falling off of her couch. The flowers she’d bought to cheer herself up lay in a jumbled pile on the floor, covered in shards of the broken vase and glass insert from the table, their water seeping into her new rug.

The booted foot that had kicked the vase over slips another few inches lower, and the TV remote joins the mess on the floor. Of course the battery cover pops free and fucks off under the couch. 

“Barnes?” Darcy demands. He doesn’t so much as twitch. Some super assassin he is. “Barnes!” 

He is so lucky that Darcy has just completed some real soul searching and decided she’s not cool with killing people. Because Barnes? He’s been the bane of her existence for the past two months.

When she’d moved to this floor, she’d been all about being a conscientious neighbor. And only partially because he was the world’s scariest assassin. 

Thor had told her that Barnes’ therapist had pretty much prescribed less Steve Rogers, and that Barnes was struggling. Jane had double-checked all of FRIDAY’s security measures, and apologized again for the loud sex that had driven Darcy from the floor she’d been sharing with Thor and Jane.

Darcy had planned to be the nicest neighbor ever, in the hopes that Barnes wouldn’t complain to Steve that their floor had been invaded. She’d been quiet. (No one could be quieter than Barnes - she totally gets the whole ghost thing he had going for him.) She’d left him cookies on his doorstep. (And picked up the untouched container three days later.) 

All she can say now is that the loud sex had been really, really loud. She can’t go back to that. Even if Barnes is seriously the biggest asshole she’d ever met. Even if she couldn’t entirely say she’d met him, since he  _ never  _ answers his door. 

“Barnes, you can’t sleep here.” Darcy looks around and spots her umbrella leaning against the wall near the hallway. She uses it to poke him while remaining a semi-safe distance away. “Barnes! You’re in the wrong apartment!”

His metal arm slips off the edge of the couch, falling to the floor with a thump. It starts to drag his body over the side.

With a squeak Darcy drops the umbrella and pulls her side table out of the danger zone. Then she stands with her hands on her hips, watching as the weight of his metal appendage inch by inch drags him incrementally closer to toppling over. Only for his other arm to flop up, breaking the glass in a picture frame before sending it crashing to the floor, before grabbing the back of the couch to haul himself back up onto it.

He leaves a smear of blood on the wall. The snoring continues uninterrupted, now new and improved with a few snorts as he settles again.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Darcy asks the universe apparently, because Barnes certainly isn’t in any state to answer. 

“Darcy, my protocols require that I ask if you need assistance,” FRIDAY asks at a low volume. 

Darcy stares at Barnes. She knows for a fact that Steve is in DC with Sam and Nat. Tony had called the shots on a snafu over in Central Park. Thor had quite enjoyed it. Tony and Thor are on the same page when it comes to making a statement. 

She also knows that Barnes has been all of the unreceptive towards Thor’s attempts to foster a friendship. 

“No. We’re good,” Darcy sighs. He’s not a security threat, after all. That’s what FRIDAY is really asking. If Barnes is a danger to her, if she needs help of the Avenging kind. “But if he thinks I’m pulling his boots off and getting him a blanket, he’s wrong.”

“Very well, Darcy.” 

Her anger is snuffed, mostly by exhaustion. After one of those days where nothing goes right, she’d been dreaming of a blanket and a movie on her couch. Instead she gets to clean up broken glass and host her drunk asshole of a neighbor.

He only snores louder when she busts out her Dirt Devil, crushing any hope that he’ll wake up and stumble home. She even makes a few passes near his head as a last resort. 

Half an hour later she has the glass cleaned up, the flowers in a new vase on her dining room table, and everything breakable pulled far out of his reach. Just in case.

It’s then that she notices his hand is still bleeding. A piece of glass is sticking out of the side of his index finger. 

“Fuck. Fuck you, buddy.” Darcy nudges him again, this time with her hand. After the vacuum, she’s less worried about him springing up from the couch ready to maim and kill. 

She wraps her fingers around his metal wrist and lifts it - that fucker is heavy - then lets it fall back onto the couch cushion. Nothing. Nada.

She grabs a roll of paper towels from the kitchen. He has no response to her leaning over him and pulling the shard of glass from his hand. When she wraps the bleeding hand in three layers of paper towels and secures it with her hair tie he does frown and wiggle away.

Darcy stops at the hallway to look back at him. Over the past year news coverage of him on the front pages of newspapers had tapered off. Slowly, the naysayers began to accept the rulings that made him a prisoner of war and not a traitor. And if they didn’t, they increasingly found less of an audience. 

Instead, he’d made the jump to the society pages and fluff magazine pieces . He’s too attractive for his own good, blue eyes and dark lashes, pouty lips usually turned down in frown. Featuring him next to the good Captain at a Children’s Gala sold magazines and drove up donations. He’d posed with Sam for a piece about veterans. 

All the people who’d looked down at the heartthrob in their history books had grown up, and they buy magazines. They wonder if he’s been in love with Steve this whole time. They wonder if he wanted a family back then, and if behind the scowls and glares is a man who still does. They want to know if he’s just as much of a lady killer. He never says much by way of an answer to those questions, but his roguish (ugh) wink said enough. 

By the time Darcy learned the only residential suite available to her away from Thunder Lovin’ was on the same floor with Barnes, his reputation as the sweetheart bad boy Casanova had been solidified. 

Darcy didn’t know how much of what is printed is true. Not much, if it’s anything like what’s printed about Thor and Jane. 

She does know that none of them had heard him snoring like a freight train, because it’s bad enough to knock him down a few pegs on the ‘oh my sweet bippy take me now’ scale, gorgeous eyelashes or not.

No one could sleep next to that, and Darcy is a girl who loves her sleep. 

Besides, that’s ignoring another thing all the magazines and people swooning in the streets don’t know. That Barnes is a straight-up asshole.

Living on the same floor with him had done in what little was left of her attraction to him. The bits that hadn’t been chipped away by the knowledge that he was apparently a one and done kind of guy, according to Thor’s concern about Bucky’s needing a ‘true companion’ and the gossip in the cafeteria line from supposed past dates. Cause Barnes looks like heartbreak waiting to happen, and if he’s going to be a giant dickhead in the meantime? 

Hard pass.


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky wakes up in pure misery.

His face is stuck to the woven fabric of the couch, his head is directly next to a giant speaker that is blasting horns into his ears. He doesn’t know what the fuck a lowrider is, or care why it knows every street.

And then there’s the sun. It’s shining right into his face.

He holds up a hand to block his watering eyes just as something roars to life in the kitchen. Like someone poured a handful of bolts into a blender. Christ.

It takes him a little too long to realize what’s wrong with his hand. It’s got about half a roll of paper towels wrapped around it, secured with a purple hair tie.

Bucky stumbles to his feet, ignoring the way his stomach immediately twists. Maybe if she sees that she’s been successful in waking him, she’ll stop. The toe of his boot catches the edge of a rug and he looks down. She’s got rugs piled on rugs, overlapping to form a thick, uneven layer of plush carpet. Why? Just why?

Just as he reaches the kitchen, something else with a motor starts going. A woodchipper? He comes around the end of the counter, and there she is. Yoga pants, too large t-shirt, hair back in a messy pony tail. She’s so pretty it’s like a punch in the gut. 

“You’re awake!” She smiles savagely, pressing a button on some kind of countertop appliance, and it buzzes to life. “Good. Get out.”

Bucky looks around the overly bright kitchen. The walls are painted lime green and all the curtains are open. There’s a blender near the fridge filled with spinning green liquid. A black and silver thing is roaring away next to the coffee pot, and then the white thing she’d just started was still going, filled with brown crumbs.

“Fine.” Bucky turns to go back to the door. She’s obviously in no mood to be reasonable, or listen to his apology. Then he sees the broken glass in one half of the coffee table, and the blood smeared on the wall over the couch and along the back cushion.

Shit.

He turns, unable to just leave now.

“Out,” she says, directly behind him. To emphasize her point, she pushes him. “Now.”

“Look,” he starts, only to be absolutely blank on what her name could be. He closes his mouth and tries to make it look natural, even as he scrambles for a way to smooth this over. 

Her brows go up incredulously, and he knows his slip wasn’t missed.

“I’m about one second away from engaging safety protocols,” she threatens, and damn if she doesn’t look like she’d enjoy bringing half the Avengers down on him.

“Miss Lewis, do you need assistance?” FRIDAY chimes in, right on time.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she says when he opens his mouth.

Later, Bucky decides. Later, he’ll apologize. When her apartment of horrors isn’t quite so horrifying, and when his head isn’t trying to murder him.

The door slams shut behind him, nearly hitting him in the ass.

His boots are planted in the middle of her doormat. A ceramic cactus sits on its own, missing its alligator.

Hell.

He goes back to sleep, and doesn’t wake again for hours.

She’s not home once he’s showered and has managed to stomach some plain toast. He knows this, because he can’t hear anything through the supposedly soundproof walls. The combination of his serum-enhanced hearing and the sheer volume at which she listens to things means that he knows all too well that she’s either listening to music or watching the television when she’s home.

With the music he can hear thrumming bass, percussive drums, and every once in a while, a particularly loud solo. When it comes to the television, he normally hears screams. She’s got a thing for horror flicks.

With Steve gone, Bucky spends a lot of time in his apartment. It means he’s gotten pretty used to the sounds from next door. The only time the music is off when she’s not sleeping or watching TV is when she paces. She walks like a fuckin’ elephant, and she paces from the hallway to her kitchen, back and forth, back and forth.

Because of the heavy steps, she’d been one of his last guesses for who had moved into the empty apartment on the floor he shared with Steve.

So he’s trying to think of ways he can make things right and eating peanuts out on his balcony. Steve had sent him a giant ten pound bag of peanuts. Bucky can’t think why, other than that they used to buy a small bag at Coney Island because those little red and white paper cones were the only thing they could afford.

But they make a mess and Bucky doesn’t particularly like peanuts. He doesn’t know why he’s eating them, why he’s eaten half the damn bag. But it’s become a habit for the past few weeks, to sit out on the balcony and crack open the peanuts.

He has to kick the shells off the side because if he leaves any, the birds come and shit everywhere.

It’s probably therapeutic. Dr. Calderon would love it. He should mention it. Maybe even that he sometimes sits out here, eating peanuts, hating peanuts, and cursing Steve. She’d definitely like that.

He’s thinking about lunch, and about tossing the peanut bag over the railing (a frequent fantasy), when the music starts next door. Even louder than normal.

Bad sign?

Bucky’s considering that, and weighing his plan to send her flowers and a gift card to a furniture store, when he hears the patio door open on the other side of the concrete wall dividing their balconies. There’s a feral sounding snarl, a crash, and then the door slams shut again.

It’s a good thing Stark built the glass missile proof, because normal glass wouldn’t have survived that.

Knowing he’s taking his life in his hands if she’s standing out there, Bucky hops up on the railing and leans to peer around the concrete wall. She’s not out there. What is out there is a comfortable looking patio set, an ungodly number of bright pillows, a jungle of plants, blue astroturf, a fancy coffee machine laying on its side and smoking ominously, about a thousand peanut shells, and a truly obscene amount of bird shit.

“Aw hell,” Bucky whispers, noticing the small yellow broom and its matching dust bin. The dust bin has a smiley face on it, but its edge shows signs of being used as a scraper and it hadn’t been up to the task.

Inside, he has to take the only thing on his wall, a drawing Steve had framed for him, down. It was about to vibrate off its hook.

His silverware is rattling in the drawer.

After almost an hour of angry music, Bucky decides things aren’t going to improve next door. Which means things aren’t going to improve in his apartment. His choices are to go work out again, brave seeing other people, or try to appease her.

Besides, he’s not a hooligan. He does feel bad about the night before. The alligator, the blood, her furniture - all of it. And now ruining her patio. That too. 

He knocks on her door. Then he pounds, realizing no one could hear a knock over the screaming guitar. Waiting, he notices the alligator is back. The nose is a little crooked. Bucky squats, tracing the barely visible line.

“What are you doing?” her voice demands from behind him.

It’s a miracle he doesn’t crush the alligator. Only his quick reflexes prevent both that and his spilling the coffee he’d brought over.

He stands, lifting the mug in offering.

“I come bearing gifts. Well, gift.” Damn. He used to smooth. He has clear fucking memories of talking to dames from any of the five boroughs, coaxing smiles and sharing laughs, seeing eyes light up at a heartfelt compliment. Everything that goes into it, reading the waters, picking up on cues, the hundred little things, it had all come easily.

“Coffee?” She looks him up and down suspiciously. A rainbow grocery tote hangs from her shoulder.

“Yes. And I’ll pay for a replacement coffee table.”

That seemed to remind her of just how terrible he’d been last night, and she goes back to looking at him like he’s something stuck to her shoe.

“I’ll get you one of those fancy coffees from downstairs if you want, bring it up,” Bucky offers, knowing he’s seen her walking around with one of those dessert in a cup frozen coffees. “Hell, I’ll get you one from anyplace you want.  _ And  _ replace the coffee table.”

She’s tempted. More tempted than he’d expected. But those eyes narrow again.

“You broke Hank.” She gives an explanatory nod towards the welcome mat. She also steps closer to the door, and he hears the locks disengage. She opens the door and drops her bags just inside. They make a heavy thump.

“He’s good as new?” Bucky tries.

“Are you trying to make this worse?” She crosses her arms. It really emphasizes certain things that Bucky is not going to look at. He remembers calling her Boobs last night and flinches internally. “I spent twenty minutes trying to get your blood out of my couch. Look at my fingers!”

Bucky winces as her hand flashes in front of his face, her pale fingertips worn red. “I’m sorry. I’m not normally like that.”

It’s the truth. He’d never been one to get sloppy on drink.

“Whatever. At least you didn’t turn off the elevator. Again,” she says, eyes darting towards the elevator doors.

“Wha- shit.” Bucky scratches the back of his neck. He can’t fucking win with this girl. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“You don’t answer the door.” She directs a sullen smirk at him. “Trust me, I tried. One day I even tried tapping Morse code through the wall.”

“I think I know the day you’re talking about, and that wasn’t Morse code. Unless you were trying to say something about a monkey’s asshole.”

“Oh, I was.” She purses her lips and her blue eyes move over him. His brain scrambles for what he’d bothered to put on today, even as he knows it’s nothing good. Nothing snappy, at least. He really should have thought this through a little better. She nods decisively. “You’ll get me coffee anytime I say for the next two weeks, you’ll help me find a replacement coffee table,  _ and  _ you’ll clean off my balcony. And put in new astroturf!”

He actually bites his tongue to stop himself from telling her she’s a demanding little thing.

“Fine. I can’t take the angry music anymore,” he agrees, darting a glance over her shoulder where he can see that she’d moved her two speakers to directly face the wall they shared. To blast music while she was gone. His lips twitch.

She’s a piece of work.

“Don’t hold your breath waiting for that to stop.” She cocks her head, looking at him like she doesn’t quite believe him.

“I’m all yours. I’m not worst neighbor ever material, doll. Gotta make you change your mind.” The words just kind of come on their own. Maybe it always used to be like that, and he just didn’t realize. Now it feels strange, but good at the same time.

“I want a frozen turtle extra whip, extra toffee sauce from downstairs. You can just leave it here. FRIDAY will tell me.” 

“Fine,” Bucky agrees readily. 

“Fine.” 

And then that door is slammed in his face again.


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky had slept like shit. He’s been awake for six hours now, waiting for it be an acceptable time to knock on her door.

Obviously, going by her tangled hair and puffy face, he should have waited longer.

“What?” she manages after a full minute of silence. She looks confused by the entire situation.

“I’m here to clean the balcony.” Bucky holds up the bucket and cleaning supplies he’d stolen from the janitor’s closet down on floor 22. He’d been doing another check, making sure the security patrol actually opened every door.

She blinks.

“I’ve got scrapers, sprays, polishers. You name it,” Bucky explains, shaking the bucket so its contents rattle. “But I can come back another time.”

“You’re gonna clean up the bird shit?” She opens the door wider and walks away. Shuffling in mismatched socks, she waves a hand towards the sliding doors. “Have at it.”

She disappears through a doorway in the hall. Her apartment is exactly the same layout as his, which means it’s probably her bedroom. A few seconds later, the music starts up. Big thumping bass that thrums in his his chest.

It comes from down the hall, in the living room, and even from the kitchen. The sound system must all be connected. 

Bucky shuts her front door behind him. The locks engage automatically, a security setting for this floor. Partially in case Bucky reverted to the Soldier, though that’s less of a worry now than it had been in the beginning, and partially because Bucky likes things secure.

That’s why he’d had the elevators shut off a few times. Sometimes Stark’s security system, steel reinforced walls, and iron bar locking doors aren’t enough. Turning the elevators off restricts easy access to this floor.

And it had been fine, because almost everyone living on the residential floors was an Avenger. A few flights of stairs is nothing for most of them, and a couple could even fly. He’d never imagined they’d put a civilian on his floor.

Bucky looks around as a raspy voiced woman starts to sing, _ I wear my jeans too short and my neckline’s too low. _

There are rugs on top of rugs, to the point that he has to look over in the corner to see if she’s got the same plush gray carpeting he does in his apartment. The walls in the dining room are painted pale pink and a wall in the living room is turquoise.

She has enough stuff for at least three apartments. He’s never seen so many plants in one room, she’s made two sitting areas in the living room, and he could probably spend an hour trying to see everything. There’s an ice cream cone lamp, a line of ceramic penguins marching from one foot of a side table to another along the floor, and near the hallway a bunch of wind chimes hang.

Bucky has to step over a pile of blankets in the living room to get to the sliding door.

It looks even worse than it had the day before. How did the birds even manage to shit against the back wall? There’s a layer of crusted gray droppings covering every surface on the patio, nearing an inch thick in some places .

Bucky pulls out his phone and holds down the button on the side for ten seconds.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“FRIDAY, can I get pillows washed? The small square ones that people put on couches. And lawn chairs, apparently,” Bucky asks, stepping out onto the tile, and cringes at the crunching under his boots.

“I believe you are referring to throw pillows. I can notify the laundry on floor forty-seven that you are going to send a priority bag.”

Bucky winces, looking at the pillows. He feels bad for whoever opens the bag. “Okay. Does Darcy have the bags here, do you know?”

“Yes. Laundry bags are kept in the ceramic pumpkin in the hallway.”

“In the pumpkin.” Bucky nods. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

The pillows are gone, and he’s scraped about two feet of the balcony clean when the door opens behind him an hour later. Despite the sudden drop to actually mild temperatures, he’s still dripping sweat. 

“I’m headed down to the lab.”

Bucky stands, wiggling his fingers. He doesn’t know what those birds ate but it turns their shit to cement. The fingers that aren’t metal ache. But he’s going to be damned if he doesn’t finish this. “Okay if I keep working?”

“That’s cool. I brought you a drink.” She holds out a glass with white and pink flowers on it. Ice clinks in the dark liquid. “Mint iced tea.”

It’s cold and refreshing and Bucky drains the entire glass in three gulps.

“Uh.” Her eyes drift over his chest, slightly dazed, and Bucky feels a familiar thrill. He’s grinning when her eyes snap back up, and her cheeks flush pink. “I’ll get you a refill before I go.”

She holds out her hand, wiggling her fingers when he doesn’t relinquish the glass. Her cheeks darken. “I don’t have all day, Barnes.”

“Sure.” Bucky hands off the glass, trying to get his face back under control.

She stalks back through the apartment. Bucky swallows the aftertaste of mint, which actually makes his mouth and throat feel cold.

She’s doing the elephant stomping thing when she comes back. It looks like she’s walking normally, but it sounds like she weighs five hundred pounds. It should be scientifically impossible, she’s five foot three, how can she even exert that much force?

“Here.” She shoves the glass at him, the tea almost sloshing over the rim. The blush is gone, and now she raises one cool brow. “You might be super, super pretty, but you’re still an asshole. So I don’t care that you’re all muscle-y and have cheekbones that won’t stop.”

He watches her stalk away and slam the front door behind her. A yellow knit hat falls off the hook next to the door.

Then he gets back to scraping.

By the time the sliding door opens again, he’s got aching muscles, bloody knuckles, and a sunburn. But on his lunch break he’d picked up the dry cleaned pillows, and the balcony is looking…how he thinks it’s supposed to look.

There’s stuff everywhere, but it’s all clean. It’s a riot of colors, and he’d almost sent a plastic Rudolph reindeer to the sidewalk eighty floors below. He’d caught him by his jingle bell reins.

“Holy shit.”

Bucky turns, ignoring the way his side twinges, to see her looking around in wonder. She steps out onto the patio, her feet bare. It makes him glad he’d washed the tiles twice over.

“I kind of thought you’d give up. But this looks...really awesome.”

“Give up?” Bucky smiles like his fingers aren’t about to fall off. The metal arm had really come in handy. Ha.

“Dude,” she leans against the wall, “you looked like you had run a marathon an hour in. I figured you were out of shape from hermiting.”

“Out of shape?” Bucky motions to himself before he really thinks better.

She snorts. “I thought maybe that was the serum. Seeing as how you kept taking  _ both  _ of our grocery orders but don’t look like someone who’s been eating for two and all.”

God fucking damn it.

“That’s why I’ve been getting such weird stuff?” As soon as the words are out of his mouth he’s kicking himself. 

“Weird stuff?” she asks incredulously, and then shakes her head.  “What the fuck, man? Are you doing this on purpose? It’s kind of hard to believe you’re not.”

“I swear that I’m not. I had no idea about the elevator, or the groceries, or the fuckin’ kamikaze pigeons.” Bucky runs his hand through his hair and feels something crusty in it. Great. Perfect. He’s got bird shit in his hair.

She’s staring straight back at him, looking him right in the eyes. Maybe she hasn’t seen the bird shit.

“Okay. Look, I was going to make some dinner. You can have some if you want. After you shower, because you really smell. Plus, I think you’ve got something…” she trails off, motioning to her head.

Bucky’s stomach growls at the mere mention of food. And she’s  _ making _ dinner? Not frozen pizzas or Hot Pockets? “I’m not gonna say no.”

“Okay. Shower. And then, I don’t know, do you maybe have some chicken breast? Parmesan cheese, breadcrumbs? Maybe some fresh basil?”

“I could check.” Bucky has an entire shelf of his giant pantry filled with shit that had come with his groceries that he didn’t have the slightest clue what to do with. He’d thought that maybe Steve had altered his order, to get Bucky to try something new. But no, he’d just been stealing the pretty dame next door’s groceries.

“When you say ‘I could check’, I’m hearing, ‘yes, Darcy, I’ll bring those over after my shower. And also a bottle of wine. Perhaps the malbec you ordered last week’.” She makes finger guns at him.

“You got it, doll.” Bucky crams the last of his supplies in his bucket. He’s hoping she’s not looking at him too closely, because he’d really crawled back underneath the porch swing, and it had been pretty grimy, when he sees the extension cord.

As a last ditch attempt to regain a little dignity, he plugs it in and stands, hefting the overfilled bucket.

Her eyes follow the line of star shaped party lights, and then trace over the glowing palm tree in the back corner.

“Okay. That was pretty smooth, I’ll admit.” She wraps the ends of her sweater around her middle, and drops onto the porch swing. “Maybe I’ll wait out here.”

He stares back at her for a second too long, and she’s looking right back at him, her expression growing more and more concerned. It’s just that somehow this, out of all the things - out of nights out, dancing, what have you - looking at her sitting on that shitty porch swing he spent half the day making sure wouldn’t fall over is the thing that makes him feel like he’s himself again. The guy he’d been before he went to war.

“Chicken, basil, cheese,” he blurts, squeezing past her knees.

“And wine. Don’t forget the wine.”

“Wine. Malbec.” For the first time in his life, Bucky makes a finger gun at someone.

It makes her smile, so he’s good with it.

It isn’t until he’s shutting her front door behind him that he really thinks that through.

But he’s smiling by the time he’s stepping into his own apartment.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s Sunday. Darcy loves Sundays. Two years ago she’d declared them no lab days, and with Thor’s backing, it had become an observed weekly mini-holiday. It’s so untouchable that they’d only worked three Sundays since, two instances involving unstable wormholes and one had come at some truly heartfelt pleading on NASA’s part. 

It’s her day to sleep in, recover from the week past and prepare for the week ahead. She straight up pampers herself, making sure her laundry is sent out on Saturday morning. She always goes to bed early the night before, and then stays in bed until she opens her eyes to fresh, good smelling, pretty floral sheets, feeling rested. 

She always makes a real breakfast; fancy waffles, or sweet potato breakfast hash, or bacon asparagus quiche. It’s also her day to stockpile food for long lab days and late nights. If she doesn’t, she eats entirely too much take out and feels like crap. She makes up big batches of soup, freezes a dozen quesadillas, and stashes individually wrapped turnovers. 

She screens her calls and only talks to other humans if she wants to, to arrange a trip to the park to lay in the sun and drink frozen coffees or to loaf around a museum and hit the fancy chocolate shop near her favorite live music bar that does half price Sundays and patio concerts.

This particular Sunday she’s in her warm fuzzy socks, it’s raining softly outside and she’s got the windows cracked. It smells like fresh rain and it’s just slightly cool. She’s got chocolate chip French toast on the stove, bacon in the oven and a full French press.

Jack Johnson is playing, and she’s tossing around the idea of a vacation again. Someday she is going to Hawaii. It’s gonna happen.

That’s when she hears the tapping on her wall. Right when she’s pondering if she could maybe find a way to make Tony pay for her flight. There’s an observatory in Hawaii, right?

Darcy pulls her coffee closer and cocks her head to listen.  _ Smells. Good. _

Seriously? This guy was the heartthrob of 30’s Brooklyn?

Then again, her eyes are drawn to her sliding glass doors. Her balcony looks better than it had on the day she’d moved in. And he’d hung her  _ up all night to get lucky  _ neon sign where she’d marked on the wall over her fainting couch. All professional and shit, so it’s level and not tilting forward.

She’s got other stuff that needs hanging. And she’s the worst about hitting her thumb with the hammer. Despite Thor’s being something of a hammer specialist on the battlefield, it turns out his skill doesn’t extend to domestics. Her bedroom wall has the hole to prove it. 

Her home improvement dreams - big and small - are complicated by the fact that only vetted and approved work crews are permitted on the residence floors, and her to-do list had been deemed low-priority and scheduled for February barring delays. In a tower housing the entirety of the Avengers, there are  _ always  _ delays. 

Shaking her head at what her life has become, she puts her knuckles against the wall.  _ Will. Exchange. Food. For. Work. _

She’d almost said skills. But she’d caught herself. Because, yeah. She didn’t need to be thinking about Bucky Barnes’ skills. Especially not after having him shirtless and sweaty on her balcony yesterday. That image is not leaving her head anytime soon. She’s equal parts thankful (sweet, sweet baby Aretha Franklin, he’s beautiful and hot and so, so hot) and pissed (how is she supposed to keep her cool around him and not make a fool of herself while she uses him for his handyman know-how now that she knows what’s under his shirts? How?).

There’s no response from next door. Darcy frowns, reaching for the wall again, but there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in!” she yells as the cow timer on her kitchen shelf starts mooing. FRIDAY will unlock the door.

She pulls the baking sheet out of the oven, hot air rushing out against her cheeks, and flips the bacon. Oil bubbles along the edges that are just beginning to crisp and darken. 

“Can you scramble eggs?” Darcy asks when he steps into the kitchen. He’s already dressed, wearing a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. She checks the two slices of bread and finds them perfectly cooked and ready to be transferred to the yellow daisy serving platter. “No shoes at breakfast.”

“Bossy. And yeah, I know how to scramble eggs.” He toes off first one shoe and then the other, with perfect balance. “Is that the work?”

“No, that’s breakfast. Get scramblin’.” Darcy puts two more pieces of bread on the pan, the egg mixture sizzling around the edges. She watches him out of the corner of her eye as he walks to the fridge. He’s wearing black socks with a faint plaid pattern. “The work is putting up a shelf in my room. And if you’re good at home repair stuff, repairing the hole Thor left.”

“I can do that. What’s in the pot?”

Darcy smacks his reaching hand. It’s the metal one, so she doesn’t know how much good it does. She also wonders, too late, if that’s kind of a no-no. He doesn’t react other than to withdraw his hand, so she powers through. “That’s veggie stew. No touchy. And are you sure about the wall? I mean, it’s not like plaster or anything. From ye olden days.”

“I think I can handle it,” he says drily.

“ _ Reeeeallllly. _ ” Darcy taps the spatula against her palm. “So you might say you’re good at this repair stuff.”

“Used to save money on rent helping the super. And I said I was all yours, doll. Make a list, I’ll get it done.”

“You’re going to regret that,” Darcy tells him happily. Oh yes sir, she’s getting shit done now. That swan bath faucet? It’s getting installed. The canopy that is supposed to be over her bed, with glorious light blocking drapes? That baby’s going up. The rolling ladder for the bookshelves in her library? Hells yes. She wonders if he does wallpaper. Did they have wallpaper back then? Surely they did. A quiet pop from the skillet ends her distraction. “You’re burning the eggs!”

“‘M not burning the eggs. Get outta here.” He catches the hand reaching for his spatula and uses it instead to twirl her away. Smooth. “Refill your coffee. You’ve tried to drink from an empty cup three times in the last sixty seconds.”

“You  _ are  _ burning the eggs,” Darcy tells him, but she does trudge over to the press. “I’m not eating burned eggs.”

“Do you always complain this much?” Bucky asks, picking up the skillet and doing some kind of fancy move that has the eggs flipping over in the pan.

“I haven’t been getting enough socialization. Or sun,” Darcy tells him, coming closer with her fresh cup of coffee to peer into the pan. The eggs look decidedly not burned. “I guess they’ll suffice.”

“I’m glad you think so, your highness.” He flicks the burner off. “Where are the plates?”

She tips her head, and he opens the right cabinet. Darcy watches him pull two down and shut the cabinet. Breakfast with the bane her existence. What is Jane going to think of this development? 

Darcy sits across from him and shares the paper. She retrieves three or four newspapers from the lobby every morning and pulls out the funnies, leaving the rest behind. The news is usually too damn depressing before noon.

She also starts her list. He glances over at it every once in a while, and she keeps expecting him to object, but he doesn’t. So she keeps adding whatever she can think of. If he even marks off two things, it will be a total win.

In the library, which is actually the third bedroom, the closet is filled with boxes that haven’t been unpacked since before New Mexico. Stuff has been added along the way, but nothing has been unpacked. She’s trying to remember what all is inside them when she hears the quiet clinking of dishware behind her and spies the empty seat across from her. The paper he had been smiling down at now lays neatly folded next to her tulip salt and pepper shakers. 

He’s doing the dishes. Holy cats. He is probably the most attractive person she’s ever had in her apartment, and he’s in her kitchen doing the dishes in his socks with his hair pulled back in a bun. 

Washing the non-stick skillet with steel wool.

Damn.


	6. Chapter 6

After three days in a row, Darcy expects him. He’s a decent kind of morning person and waits until her music comes on to come over with his tools. 

So she’s not surprised when he appears in the kitchen doorway, a heavy tool box dangling from one hand, as Nat King Cole croons about the lazy-hazy crazy days of summer. 

“Are you hungry?” she asks, pausing with the bag of bread. The man had patched the hole Thor had left in her bedroom wall, and fixed the door Clint had busted off its hinges when Thor had roped him into helping her move. He’d also hung the wallpaper on the back wall of the dining room. She’s more than okay with feeding him, if it means he keeps plowing through her list. 

“I could eat.” 

That’s what he always says. 

“You know where the coffee is. Are you waiting for an engraved invitation?” She pops two more pieces of bread into the toaster, then spins the bag to close it. 

“Seems like you need a refill, sunshine.” Tools clink as he sets the toolbox down. He pulls his boots off without needing a reminder of Darcy’s strict no shoes at breakfast rule.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s really early. For scientists. We’re practically nocturnal.” Darcy casts another look at the green numbers on the microwave clock display. Yep. 6:37 a.m. It’s not even a jogging day. Major suckage.

A few minutes later she’s assembling breakfast sandwiches and he’s setting her  _ I hate everyone  _ mug next to the sliced avocado. It’s already been doctored with cream. She takes a testing sip and finds he’s added sugar as well. It’s just the way she likes it. The perks of associating with assassins. They notice everything.

“Do you want pastrami? I’ve got some left over, in the bottom drawer in the fridge.” Darcy screws the lid back on the mayonnaise. He hands off the package of pastrami and she adds a couple slices to her skillet to heat it up. “It’s gonna be a coffee kind of day. Do you think you could meet me at two to get some real espresso?” 

“Sure.” He leans against the counter next to the coffee pot, his mug in his hands. He sees her looking and bobbles the mug, his cheeks flushing slightly. Yeah. All of her worries about making a fool of herself in front of all the sexy, smooth charmer that is James Buchanan Barnes? Unfounded. He seems to will his blush away and looks her directly in the eye. “Here?”

“No, you’re gonna have to come down to the labs. Jane will never let me leave on my own, not even for coffee.” Darcy flips the pastrami when the fat begins to crackle. “We’ll get you added to the access list.”

“Two o’clock sharp, neutralize Jane, get coffee.”

“Neutra-” Darcy stops, then points the spatula at him. “Oh, he’s got jokes. Taking advantage of me when I’m weak. I see.”

“It’s too easy.”

“Uh-huh, get your plate over here,” she orders, scooping the pastrami out of the skillet and onto his toast while he holds his plate near the skillet for her. “Banana or strawberries?”

He shrugs a shoulder, carrying both of their plates to the table. 

“Both?”

“Sounds good, doll.” 

“You always want both,” Darcy tells him, grabbing the bowl of strawberries from the fridge and stacking the bananas on top of it. She closes the door with a soft kick. “I don’t know why I ask.”

He shrugs his shoulder again.

She sets the fruit on the table and goes to sit down, “Okay, Shruggy McShr-”

She trips over one his boots and before she can recover she’s got one leg crossed over the other and the boot has flipped up under her foot. She flings out an arm and manages to grab his fork.

Prepared for impact, she instead finds herself cradled in his arm, the back of her head inches from the floor. The table creaks and she carefully turns her head to see that he’s got his chair leaned back on two legs and one foot hooked up under the table leg keeping them both upright.

“Okay, but I caught the fork.”

“You knocked it off the table in the first place,” he laughs. Then he gets her back on her feet with a twirl - he’s dangerous with that shit - his chair landing back on all four legs with a thump. 

Okay. So there’s the sexy, smooth charmer every textbook and biopic ever had warned her about. 

Darcy straightens her shoulders, telling herself she is not affected by that. Not in the least. She primly sets his fork next to his plate. He’s not looking at her, but she can see him smiling down at his plate.

“Can it, Barnes.”

She feels a little better after more coffee. A girl needs her wits about her. Then she notices the time and knows Jane is probably already down there, drinking crappy coffee and making poor decisions. 

“Shit.” Darcy pops another strawberry in her mouth and carries her plate to the sink. Then she hurries through changing and cramming her hair up into her customary ‘early day’ bun. 

He’s washing the dishes when she darts back into the kitchen to grab her lunch. 

Darcy grabs the round tupperware she’d filled the night before, eyes on the second one. Sitting there in her fridge. 

She rolls her eyes and turns away, willing herself to grow up. “There’s some chipotle chicken and pumpkin soup in here if you want it for lunch.” 

“Okay. Have a good day at work.” 

Darcy stops again, examining him for signs that he’s teasing her. But he’s focused on his task, hands covered in soapy water. And all that ‘have a good day, dear’ stuff came from the _Leave It To Beaver_ era. It’s doubtful he’d put that at the top of his catch-up list.

“Uh, you too,” Darcy replies too late. 

He looks over his shoulder, brows drawn together. Blues eyes flick over her, trying to read her, figure out why she’s behaving like such a weirdo.

Darcy holds in a sigh. But internally she’s sighing forever at her overactive, awkward as hell brain. 

She offers him a sloppy salute and escapes to the lab. 

Jane is standing on a desk with a poptart between her teeth and a drill in her hands. When she sees Darcy she speaks between clamped teeth, “Hey. Turn off th’ alarm?”

Darcy deposits her lunch in the kitchenette, then makes for the beeping console. Which immediately sets off another alarm.

Darcy doesn’t come up for air for another three hours, when FRIDAY warns them that Tony is on his way. They lock down the lab and Darcy shoots a quick plea for help to Bruce, just in case Tony is feeling stubborn.

Tony either accepts they’re not going to be any fun today, or Bruce intervenes and distracts him with science or food. 

It feels like an hour later that FRIDAY kills the music, grungy Alanis Morissette, and a knocking sound makes itself known. Jane’s head jerks up, almost catching Darcy in the nose. 

“What’s that? Is it the field generator?” Jane shoves past Darcy, running for the middle of the room. 

Darcy heads for the coolant. It’s just as likely that something, somewhere is overheating. 

“Darcy. I figured it out,” Jane calls. “It’s your neighbor.” 

“What? But it’s too early- No. No, it is not; Jane, we missed lunch.” Darcy waves at Barnes through the glass. Then she turns to Jane, who now stands with her hand pressed to her stomach. “I’m gonna grab coffee and some muffins. You want iced or hot?” 

“Iced.” Jane hesitates for a minute, but then starts towards the kitchenette. “FRIDAY, shut it down.”

“Man, we worked through lunch and I’m starving,” Darcy says as soon as the doors open. He’s wearing different clothes, and she can see that his hair is still damp underneath his hat.  She scans him, able to spot two weapons and well aware that with assassins weapons are like mice in the kitchen. If you see one you can be sure there’s at least three more.“I want to go to Pudge Coffee, do you know where that is?”

“Yes.”

Darcy narrows her eyes, “Do you have everything within a six block radius of here memorized?” 

“Common sense for someone like me.” 

“I guess that makes sense. I know how to say some variation of ‘hi, don’t kill me’ in the most common tongues of each of the Nine Realms. Just in case.”

“You kiddin’?” he asks, looking at her with one brow raised.

“Nope. Poking around at wormholes like we do, I thought it was best to be prepared.” 

When the elevator doors open to the busy lobby, Darcy grabs his wrist and tugs him along towards the security desk. It’s Reynolds, Werther, and Lin today. Werther’s lips press together and she stands, hand already on her walkie-talkie before she notices Barnes.

“Hey guys, I’m headed out.” Darcy smiles extra wide and shiny, then motions to Barnes with both hands. “And check it.”

Before they can respond, Darcy grabs him again and makes for the door. 

“Doll?” 

“Uh huh?” Darcy looks over her shoulder. Werther is watching them leave, but it doesn’t seem like anyone is going to come after them.

“Why do I get the impression this break is a little less coffee and a little more prison?” 

“It’s both, Barnes.” Darcy takes a deep breath. Ah, the smell of the city. Exhaust and the pretzel cart on the corner. She spreads her arms and twirls. “I hope you know, I’m totally taking advantage of you for the next two weeks. I’m not even going to feel bad.”

“I’m all yours. Gotta redeem myself.” 

Darcy shoots him a skeptical look. “Fat chance. However, quick question, there’s this pizza making class that I wanted to go to Sunday. I wasn’t gonna take someone from security and it’s gonna be date night for Jane and Thor. I wondered if you might wanna go? You get free pizza at the end. Yay or nay?” 

“Free pizza and time spent with a pretty dame? Sounds like my kinda deal.” 

“Be still my beating heart,” Darcy deadpans, starting in the direction of her favorite coffee shop. The new security restrictions had really cramped her style, just when she’d been getting the baristas warmed up to her. Unacceptable.


	7. Chapter 7

FRIDAY is his new best friend.

That’s all there is to it. Steve has been in DC for a damn month now, and Bucky had actually slept through his call last night because he’s fuckin’ exhausted, so they haven’t talked for days.

And did Steve warn him about sanding down the filler putty before re-painting the wall? Did Steve tell Bucky about the perils of using ‘flat’ paint in high traffic areas?  Who told him to stop chasing the runaway floor sander and just unplug it? Was it Steve that told him those things? No. FRIDAY did.

FRIDAY, and the heroes who fill the comment boards at thisoldhouse.com.

Bucky has used the computer more in the last week than he has in the year since he’d been woken in Wakanda.

Darcy is always so doubtful he can do something - and yes, maybe there had been a few mishaps. But now he’s got FRIDAY looking out for him.

A guy doesn’t know about grounded outlets once, and Darcy’s trying to modify her list. When she handed that list over, she’d hadn’t expected him to get it all done. When he walks into the kitchen in the mornings, carrying whatever supplies and tools he’ll need for the day, she sometimes bites her lip in obvious hesitation. She’d tried to insist he didn’t have to tackle some of the larger items on the list. But he’s serious about changing her mind on the whole worst neighbor ever thing. Not just because his mother would be rolling over in her grave if Bucky left things the way they were. Darcy thinking badly of him just doesn’t sit right.

And maybe Dr. Calderon is right, and Bucky needs to find more to occupy his time, but he’s taken that list as a personal challenge.

Checking things off the list feels good. He’s been just taking up space for a year now, his only accomplishments being attending therapy sessions and learning how to dress himself in the new century. He likes working with his hands, always has. He likes doing a job right. He likes seeing Darcy’s face when she sees his latest project.  

Also, he likes it at her place. He likes how it’s never quiet, because she leaves music set to play all day for him. He likes how things are worn, like they had been back home. He likes the colors, and how everything seems real.

In his apartment everything is new. It’s all straight lines he can get lost in. There’s nothing familiar to it, and on really bad nights, it’s easy to look around and wonder if he hasn’t made it up. After the horrors that wake and snarl in his mind during sleep, it seems more likely that he’s just trapped in someone else’s cage. Like he’ll go to the door and it won’t open. That he’ll call Steve and he won’t answer. 

Darcy’s apartment is soft and bright, it’s good smells, and music he’s beginning to recognize, and a solid anchor in the present. His brain couldn’t make up the collection of tin UFOs that hang in the corner of the living room, flying between hanging plants. Or the dented muffin pans adorning the wall in the kitchen. 

He likes the food. If he’s still there when she gets home, and he usually can’t help but make sure he is, she’ll feed him. Pan fried pork chops and green beans. Pot roast. Stuffed bell peppers. It’s real food, and it’s one of those things you take for granted until you go months and years without it.

He likes her. He likes how she takes her shoes off at the door and sighs with relief. He likes how she piles her hair into a tangled knot at the back of her head while she cooks, he likes her cheeks flushed from the heat of the oven, and how she sometimes dances along to parts of songs while stirring something in bowl. He likes how grumpy she is when she’s sleepy, all impatient and short tempered and gruff. 

Bucky looks over his shoulder as her front door opens. She’s late tonight, they must have been in the middle of something down in the lab. He’d asked about their work once during dinner- stars, galaxies, and wormholes. Things so big it’s almost impossible to think about, and she drew it on a paper napkin for him. 

“Barnes?” There’s the thump of one shoe and then the other hitting the floor. 

He hurries to adjust the fabric, then kicks his tools under the edge of the bed so it looks better when she first sees it. He spies the plastic clamshell package the screws had been in and snatches it off the mattress.

“Here!” he calls, and then can hear her coming down the hallway. She brushes the windchimes as she passes them, and then she’s standing in the doorway. 

“Holy shit! Bucky! It’s amazing.” She takes a few steps into the room and trails her hand down the bed curtains. It had been a pain in the ass getting those hooked onto the bar. He’s pretty sure it’s a two person job, but he’d managed it. With some cursing that would have been more at home back on the front than in a pretty dame’s bedroom. “This is the best ever. I’ve always wanted one of these! How did you even get these up? I thought I’d have to hold one end.”

Bucky shrugs like it wasn’t a big deal and he hadn’t pinched the pad of his thumb so sharply that he’s got a nasty blood blister. 

She beams at him, and then launches herself onto the bed, hurriedly pulling the curtains closed.

“This is perfect,” she calls out, her voice slightly muffled by the heavy curtains. “A little bit because I feel like I’m fancy like Pemberley or Hogwarts or something, but also because it is seriously dark in here.”

She sticks her face through a part in the curtains. “Thank you so much, Bucky. This is perfect.”

He holds out his hand when she goes to climb back off of mattress. She doesn’t hesitate for a second, putting her pale hand in his metal one. 

She looks up at him, blowing her hair out of her face. “I can’t believe you got that put up. I know it sounds silly but…” Trailing off she turns back to face the bed again.

“S’not silly. It looks nice.” Bucky swipes his arm over his brows where he can feel sweat gathering. He’d really pushed it to get done once he’d realized she was going to be late and he had a chance to finish it tonight. Yeah, he kind of lives for the big reveal.

“It’s a little silly. But like I said, I always wanted one of these. And in Tony’s ridiculous high ceiling apartments it  _ does _ look good.” She takes a big step back, hands on her hips as she takes it in. She smiles again. “Okay. I don’t feel like cooking tonight, and I could really do with some time outside of these walls. Going out, yay or nay?”

“That sounds pretty good,” Bucky admits. 

Her smiles brightens further, “Sweet. Bruce told me about a Thai place, unless there was some place you wanted to go?”

“No. Thai is fine,” he answers, distracted by the thrum of excitement buzzing through his veins. It’s anticipation, a happy, easy kind he hadn’t felt in a long time. He’s looking forward to a night out with her, like he used to. Back when he’d make sure his shoes were shined and his shirts were ironed and he’d try to find another gal for Steve.

“I’ve got to grab a quick shower, should I come over when I’m done?” She’s picked up one of the tablets and has the music control screen up.

Maybe her picking him up will help remind him that this isn’t a date, never mind the excitement hopping in his stomach. Yeah, Darcy’s a beautiful dame. When she wears red lipstick he’s thanking his lucky stars and cursing the fates at the same time. Back in the day, she’d have been the dish of any joint she stepped foot in, and Bucky would have been first in line to buy her a drink and take her for a spin out on the dance floor.

But here and now? Even if she’s willing to overlook his past, and he’s sure she’s got high enough security clearance to know more than he’d ever want her to, he’s half a man, still fighting ghosts, who can’t sleep through the night for nightmares. 

She’s staring at him, waiting for a response, and he adds the fact that he’s more awkward than Steve had been to the list. 

“Yeah doll,” Bucky sighs, but forces a smile so she doesn’t get the wrong idea, “it’s a plan.”


	8. Chapter 8

They’re in a cab within the hour. The seat is slightly sticky, and the cab smells of greasy food and fake vanilla. Darcy takes care of talking to the driver, leaned forward in the seat, her purse in her lap. 

Once they’re on their way, she drops back. For a second, the scent of her shampoo surrounds him. It’s sugary sweet, like candy. 

He scrambles for something to say, reaching for the words that used to come easy on dates, even if this isn’t a date. He opens his mouth to ask about her earrings, two red flowers dangling from her ears, but she turns to him at the same time.

They both stop, motioning for the other to go ahead. Hell, he’d watched Steve at this a hundred times. 

Her phone rings and he’s pretty sure he’s not the only one that’s relieved for the chance at a fresh start. The screen fills the back of the car with light as she checks the screen. Her lips tighten and she turns back to him.

“I like living in the city, but I really miss driving, you know?” Darcy says as she sends the call to voicemail. It’s the second time he’s seen her do that with a call from Natasha. “Or maybe you don’t know. Did you have a car before?”

“No, but I did delivery for a butcher for a while.” Bucky looks out the window at the sea of yellow cabs. He never could have imagined this, back then. Every family owning multiple cars. Sometimes looking down a busy street and seeing more cars than people. “And I drove in the army a few times.”

“I got my license the day I turned sixteen. It was glorious. I had a crappy Jeep that broke down more than it ran.” She’s fiddling with the hair at her temples, trying to smooth it. She looks devastatingly pretty, and he’d like to take her hands so she’ll stop worrying about it. “Freedom.”

“You gonna tell me why you’re stuck at the Tower now?” Bucky asks. Over the past few days it’s been easy for him to see how much the restriction chafes and weighs on her. But she’s never volunteered the information.

“Someone leaked that I know how to work the bridge.” She shrugs her shoulders, but those busy hands drop to her lap and twist together. He sees faded doodles on her fingers. They often appear while she’s gone at work. Dinosaurs and rockets mix in with calculations that run from her elbows to her wrists.  “After that the press was all over me, and then FRIDAY caught wind of some plot to abduct me and since then, I get my own security escort. And super fun defense training.”

“Your beloved gym days?” Bucky teases. She’s got a whole collection of smart-ass t-shirts she wears when she drags herself down to the gym.

But the look she shoots him isn’t amused. It’s sad. “Yep.”

“You really hate the gym that much?” Bucky glances up as they turn, catching a look at the street sign to make sure they’re going where they should be.

“Whatever, I’m cool with the gym. I even like jogging so long as I wasn’t up late the night before. But Hogun hates me, and I’m starting to hate Natasha.”

“Hogun?” Bucky doesn’t know anyone on the security team or any of the agents that have access to the Tower by that name. 

“He’s one of Thor’s friends. He comes down from Asgard to teach me Asgardian fight moves. He likes silence and contemplation.” She forces a smile. It’s tight at the edges and her eyes are dull instead of bright and happy. “I’m not joking. I can tell that he legitimately runs out of patience with me about three minutes in. And I try! I really do try to not talk as much.”

The cab slows and pulls over to the curb. Bucky scans both sides of the streets and the rooflines while Darcy pays the driver. She takes the hand he offers to help her out of the car. The wind is sharp, sending her hair flying between them. She reaches up and grabs it, trying to tuck it into the collar of her coat. 

“And Natasha?” he asks, realizing the training had to do with the ignored calls. He opens the door and a bell jingles overhead. The restaurant is dim, with several bamboo plants along the walls. About half of the tables are full. Other than some quick, curious glances, none of the guests pay them any attention. The bar glows blue. As Bucky watches, the blue fades to purple.

“Natasha is my friend. But she just doesn’t get that I don’t want to be a super assassin. No offence,” she adds, “but I’m a scientist. I just got my doctorate. That’s what I want to do, not learn eight ways to kill someone with their own arm.”

Their conversation stops while they’re led to a tiny table along one wall, next to a fish tank. Once they have their menus and water, she looks up, chewing on her lip.

“It feels selfish, living where I do, saying I don’t want to learn to fight. But I know more than basic self defense, I’m cool with staying in shape, and I just don’t think I should have to carry a gun, know where the most vulnerable arteries are, and - that’s just not what I want. It’s sucking me dry, you know?” She drops her menu. “Holy fuck, I can’t believe I just said that to  _ you _ .”

Bucky manages to grab her hand as she goes to stand. “Stop, Darcy.”

“You stop,” she retorts, tipping her head back. She presses her free hand over her eyes. It’s shaking when she brings it back down. “I am such a mess. I am a human disaster right now, and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for talking to me like I’m a real person.” Bucky rubs his thumb over the bumps of her knuckles, and it finally brings her eyes back to his. “You tell me when I fuck up your future pans, I’ll tell you when you hurt my feelings.”

“Teflon. It’s non-stick Teflon,” she mutters, still looking upset. 

“Pansy future pan that you can’t really clean.”

A smile flickers.

The waiter approaches, notepad clutched in his hand.

“You order,” Bucky tells her. The bar shifts from orange to red, and the glow is reflected against her cheek. “Get us something good.”

“Nope. You order.” She pushes her menu away and pats it three times before planting her chin in her palm, her elbow on the table. “It’ll be an adventure.”

Bucky picks four things, none of which he can pronounce. One actually said ‘tentacles included’ in red. He has absolutely no idea what to expect when they bring the food. It’s nothing like the bowls of stew or fry-ups he’d got a few times in Brooklyn, but a lot like ordering in France when he hadn’t quite grasped the language.

“Just so I’m straight, Natasha and Hogun have been training you, and you think you’ve learned enough and just want to maintain.”

“And not have a security escort everywhere, but I get that. I get that, for now, while it’s still crazy, I’ll have to deal.” She finally seems to notice he has her hand and gently pulls it away. Her cheeks pink slightly, and she ducks her chin to take a sip of water.

“You’ve encountered some resistance to that idea?” Bucky prods.

“Yeah. See, Jane freaking loves her crazy warrior lessons. I swear, she was destined to meet Thor. And Thor thinks I’m the same. He says I’m his lightning sister, and a fierce warrior. When I talk to him about this, he tells me not to get discouraged.” She grimaces, and he can see how hard this is for her. “And Natasha. We were - are friends. I love her. But now she’s all about training me. I can’t freaking eat around her without her making this face when I eat something I shouldn’t.”

She shifts in her seat, leaning closer. “I mean, when she’s in New York, it’s running every morning, and when I say not today because I was sciencing until five am, she says my attackers aren’t going to wait until I’m ready. That training is hard. That everyone hates their trainer. But I don’t want her to be my trainer, I just want her to be my friend.”

“And she doesn’t understand that?”

“She won’t listen. I’m not sure she  _ can  _ be friends with someone as vulnerable as me. I think she needs me to become some kind of crazy badass.” Darcy takes a deep breath. “Which, that will be sad. If we can’t be friends anymore. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. And oh my gods, Bucky what did you do to us?”

Bucky follows her gaze and sees their server, carrying a large tray with an overflowing platter on it. There are definitely tentacles. And other things that he can’t begin to identify.

But she looks up for it, and it’s the third time she’s called him ‘Bucky’, so he’s going to consider it a win.


	9. Chapter 9

“Do you mind if I keep working, or will that be too much of a distraction?” 

Darcy looks up from  _ Peanuts _ . Barnes has got his comics all folded up into quarters the way he likes, which is why she gets them first. “Working?”

“I can get that mantel hung and finish up the trim.”

“On  _ Sunday? _ ” 

“I didn’t forget about the pizza class, we don’t have to leave until three, right?”  He glances up at where her Kit Cat clock hangs, tail sweeping back and forth. “I got plenty of time.”

“No working on Sunday, Barnes!” 

“I hate to break it to you doll, but until I get cleared for active duty I’m not ever workin’.” He tears the last bunch of grapes in half, laying part of the vine on her plate, “I’ve got more time off than I know what to do with.”

“No. Sundays are fundays,” Darcy tells him, doing some quick math. She’s got a spicy rice and chicken skillet meal that heats up well going on the stove, for lab lunches. She’d made a double batch since she likes to leave food for Barnes. It probably needs at least another twenty minutes. “We can go to a farmer’s market. It’s apple season, I’ll make a pie.” 

“I’ll buy the apples if I can have a piece.”

“Barnes, I will make you a whole pie of your own if you promise me you will respect that sanctity of Sundays.”

“Bargaining with pie isn’t fair.”

“I’m a hard woman, what can I say?” Darcy pushes the last paper away and stands to check on the skillet. She plops her grapes on a paper towel and puts her plate in the sink so Bucky can get started on the dishes. They’ve fallen into a an easy routine - when Darcy cooks he takes care of the dishes. She can’t complain, it means she can sleep in a bit longer in the mornings since she doesn’t have to take the time to clean up before work.

Avoiding the rush of steam when she lifts the lid, she checks the rice. Liquid is still pooled in some places, flecks of spices floating on the top. “About fifteen minutes on this, but then it will need to cool before we can put it in the fridge.”

“Why do I have a feeling we’re stopping at a couple furniture stores too?” He stacks his plate in the sink and turns on the tap to let the water heat up.

“That’s a thing that could possibly happen,” Darcy tells him. “I’m gonna run and grab a shower really quick, can you stir this in a bit? Five minutes?”

He nods and she grabs her timer, twisting the tail to the five. 

Despite her best intentions to keep her shower short, it’s thirty minutes before she emerges from the bedroom dressed for a day of walking around. At least ten minutes of that time was spent fixing a wonky cat-eye - Natasha’s eyeliner is fierce as fuck but it’s not very forgiving.

Barnes has already scooped the rice into individual serving size tupperware containers and the skillet is in the drying rack. 

Barnes himself is nowhere to be seen however. Was he cowardly enough to vamoose back to his apartment after changing the music in the middle of her shower solo?

But no, she can see a pair of oversized boots through the patio door. Darcy changes direction and heads there. When she slides open the door the air outside is icy cold and she makes a mental note to put on a thicker sweater and wear her warmer coat. 

“What are you doing out here?” 

He looks up from a pad of paper and the breeze catches a lock of his hair. He’d changed too, he’s wearing a green cable knit sweater. He looks like some kind of Brawny/L'oreal crossover commercial. “This doesn’t count as working. Here, see what you think.”

“Too cold, come inside,” Darcy shivers. She likes snow and all, and the chance to wear all the knitwear her heart desires, but she was not built for cold. Her internal temperature seemed to have locked down in New Mexico. 

“It’s only sixty-seven degrees.” He slides the door shut behind him and locks it. 

She will never admit to him that she sometimes leaves it unlocked, but he’s started checking it when he leaves after dinner so maybe he’d noticed.

“But there’s probably windchill up this high.” 

He gives her a dubious look and tips his notepad towards her. 

“Still can’t believe you draw this well.” Darcy wraps her fingers around his wrist to pull the notepad lower. “My trellis! You can build this?”

“Course I can build it.” He leans closer, curling his arm around her to point, his tone filled with an easy kind of laid back confidence. “It depends on how much space you want it taking up, we could do three curls on each side, or we could have three separate clusters, with the middle one being the largest.”

“Yes. Big.” Darcy flips forward a couple pages, finding the one he’s talking about. “Yes, this. It’s beautiful.”

“Beautiful, huh? Maybe someone who built that might not be the worst neighbor ever?”

“Yeah, let’s just take it slow there, pal. Build the trellis, and we’ll see where we are.” Darcy releases her grip on his wrist. “Are you ready? I’m thinking we need a coffee stop.”

“Somethin’ told me you would be thinkin’ that,” he says drily, raising one brow in the smart ass way he’s got perfected. Darcy’s previous knowledge of one James Buchanan Barnes, pre-supposed death: heart stoppingly gorgeous, eyes so blue they were reported to drop panties all on their own (whether that fact was true or not had been lost to history thanks to all film and photography of him being black and white), charming and cocky in that rare way that didn’t grate, and a very loyal friend. Post-defrosting and Wakanda un-brainwashing: unnff gorgeous, yep, those eyes are blue enough to command panties, uh huh, charming so that he makes whoever he directs it at feel beautiful and interesting, yep, loyal friend check, and before she met him pretty dang scowly in general, but that boy is a smart ass and no one warned her. Darcy might maybe have a weakness for smartasses. See: her terrible dating history.

“Barnes! You’re a psychic!” Darcy rubs at the corner of her eye with her middle finger.

“Me?” he asks incredulously, eyes wide with guileless wonder, bringing both hands to his chest, only his middle fingers extended as he grasps at it.

Things almost get weird on the elevator. Once they clear the residential floors the people that staff the Tower’s various departments have access. It takes a lot of support to keep an outfit like the Avengers going - there’s research and development, health services, public relations, logistics, and more. The best of the best in each of their fields had been recruited from around the world but just because someone is just the person to try to help figure out a way to ease Bruce’s transitions doesn’t mean they’re Mr. Cool in an elevator with ‘Earth’s mightiest heroes’. 

This particular lab coat jockey is less with the hero worship Darcy had witnessed in Thor’s presence and more with the palpable terror. A mere forty-two floors has beads of sweat popping on his brow as he tries (and fails) to inconspicuously edge to the far side of the elevator. 

For his part, Bucky just stares straight forward. 

Darcy wants to call this asshole out, and tell him that he is all of the conspicuous so he can stop pretending to be fascinated by his watch, but Bucky had told her that one of the hard parts about living in the tower is that there are several ex-SHIELD personnel that had been recruited to work these floors. Meaning that the chances of someone who had lived through his attack on the Triskelion passing him in the hall were pretty high. Even if he did have all of his memories back and in perfect order, he wouldn’t remember everyone he’d encountered that day.

And Darcy one hundred percent understands other people’s sweaty, anxiety inducing, fucked up nightmares, wonky-ass triggers leftover bullshit thanks to shady evil organizations, world domination bound aliens, and other Avenger’s adjacent fuckery. 

So she says nothing to lab coat Joe who has in fact now begun to tremble. Instead she reaches forward and presses the button for a quickly approaching floor. The button scans her thumbprint and the elevator slows to a stop at level nineteen.

Then she takes Barnes’ hand and he walks with her off of the elevator. 

As soon as the elevator leaves she presses the button to call a different one. Barnes is quiet and Darcy doesn’t know what to say, or even if she should say anything at all. But just ignoring it, and Barnes’ changed demeanor, and turning on the babble about whatever she could drag out of her brain would be insensitive? Maybe?

“I can hear you thinking,” Barnes says as they step onto the new, empty, elevator. “It’s fine.”

“Not everything’s about you Barnes,” Darcy follows him to one side, leaning against the railing next to him. “I was thinking about muffins, if you must know.”

“Muffins.”

“Yeah, muffins. The coffee shop has these lemon berry marscapone cream muffins, but I think we’re way too late for any of them to be left. Do you know how long it’s been since I had one of those muffins?”

Barnes is silent for three floors, but something feels different. Darcy is just starting to doubt herself, hell, what if she’d stepped in it again with her mouth that ran off with itself, when he asks if the mascarpone cream is cold. 

Between the Tower and the coffee shop, through crowded intersections and past a cab driver that didn’t understand red lights, Darcy describes the muffins in the most flamboyant language she can come up with. Her junior year SAT prep teacher would be proud.

Of course, there are no muffins left. But Barnes doesn’t bother trying to hide his smile when she tells him he’ll now know true suffering.

Leaving the coffee shop he seems recovered, and walks close enough that their shoulders brush instead of attempting to hold himself stiff and apart. 

Darcy huddles in her jacket and they pop in and out of whatever shops look interesting. They split baskets of spicy pork tacos and nachos at a neon pink food truck and get ice cream at another. The ice cream is smooth and delicious, but Darcy is shivering.

It’s enough to have them arriving a little early to the pizza class. They’re serving wine, so it turns out to be a pretty okay deal. 

Right up until Barb shows up.

Darcy stares in disbelief for a full second as the other woman bustles through the door. 

“Problem?” Barnes twists in his seat to look over his shoulder.

“Don’t  _ look _ !” Darcy slaps his arm until he turns back around. Then she narrows her eyes and watches Barb chat with the class organizers. “Barb is here. I can’t believe Barb is here.”

“Oh,  _ Barb _ .” Barnes plants one boot on the bottom rung of her barstool and leans forward. “Who’s Barb?”

“She goes to like every class in a two mile radius, and she’s super competitive and judgy and a teacher’s pet and one time, I swear to Frigga, she stole  _ my  _ rye bread dough out of the warming tray in the Intermediate Breads class because it was better than hers.” Darcy knows how it sounds, but for some reason, Barb had become her nemesis. No, not for some reason, for lots of grating, annoying, probably completely petty reasons.

Darcy behaving in a competitive and petty manner would not be news to her parents.

Once the class begins, Darcy does her best to ignore Barb. Due to her restricted status, she’d missed the Drunk Frida painting tutorial, the English Rose Grafting class at the Botanical Society, and the Repairing Pottery with Gold Leaf class at the library. 

She’s determined to enjoy her wine and learn about pizza. She listens intently, learning about kneading techniques and requirements for traditional pizza dough. They cover how to monitor gluten structure. 

Except Barb gets a ‘defective egg’, which actually means she gets shell in her bowl and doesn’t want to admit it, and steals one off the edge of Darcy’s table with a quickly whispered ‘I’m sure you won’t mind’ and then acts like Darcy and Barnes are failures for finishing that step last after they have to go request another egg. 

And then Barb tsks when Darcy and Barnes’ dough is too sticky and they have to add more flour despite the teacher’s warning about adding too much. 

Darcy lets it go. She does. They’ve got to put the dough aside to rise. For really good dough, it should be left for a full day, but for the class they’re adjusting the recipe for an hour rise time. They move onto toppings, which includes a micro-lesson about choosing tomatoes. 

On Darcy’s first attempt at tossing the dough, after the teachers had expressly said to go nuts and not feel embarrassed, Barb had laughed in a fake quiet, snide way when Darcy’s dough had wobbled and fallen down her arm.

“Focus,” Barnes says as he helps Darcy brush the flour off her sleeve, “we’re gonna make the best pizza this class has ever seen. Barb is goin’ down.”

Darcy thinks he’s teasing her again, but when she looks at him he’s one hundred percent serious.

He hangs on the teacher’s every word. He grates cheese, blisters tomatoes, and perfectly cooks pancetta. When it’s time to put their pizza in the oven, he carries it like it’s his firstborn. He hovers near the oven with Darcy, peering in through the window to carefully watch the crust. 

Their crust is pronounced the best in the room after the teacher makes his way around, tapping against the bottoms with a fork. 

Barb’s sour look is almost as delicious as the pizza. 


	10. Chapter 10

“Jane.”

“Yeah?” Jane looks up, a flashlight clamped between her teeth so her hands are free. Three pens stick out of her hair, and there’s a blue line on her forehead, all that’s visible of a large Stark Industries bandage that will probably have the scrape healed by morning.

Darcy is exhausted, because it had been an extended session with Hogun both last night and this morning. On the plus side, Darcy’s knife throwing had improved. Yay.

She may also have almost given Hogun an aneurysm when she’d pointed out that she’d almost made a cat face on the target paper. He’d definitely developed an eye twitch that hadn’t gone away by the end of the session.

“Do not even think about it, Jane,” Darcy warns, pushing back from her desk and stretching.

Jane shoots her a mutinous look, but straightens. “Another couple hours work, we could really have something.”

“It’ll still be here tomorrow. We both vowed we were going to be better about stopping at a reasonable time if we didn’t have anything going.” Darcy hits a power switch and dumps a stale bag of Chex mix from this morning into the trash. She has a feeling the only things they’d have to show after another couple hours of work would be cricks in their necks and tension headaches.

“Yeah.” Jane twists, and Darcy can hear the other woman’s back pop from across the room. “Hey, do you want to have dinner with me? We can do a movie night, my mom sent me three bottles of wine to celebrate the article in  _ NewScience _ .”

“Uh.” Darcy looks down at her phone. It’s a pointless gesture, she knows what time it is. The end of the day alert goes off at four-thirty every day. 

“I have Bagel Bites!” Jane cajoles.

“Ugh, Jane.” Darcy grimaces. “When is the last time you ate a non-processed protein? Bagel Bites are a sometimes food!”

“I had eggs on Sunday, thank you.”

“A movie night sounds good, but we’re ordering stir fry from Black Leaf. Just let me text Barnes.”

“You have to text him if you’re not going home after work?” Jane stops walking and instead turns to give Darcy a long look.

“Because we have a two week agreement.” Darcy taps out a quick text. “Stop doing the thing with your eyebrows Jane, or I’ll steal one of your bottles of wine and go home.”

“To  _ Barnes _ ?” Jane holds up a hand when Darcy slowly raises her head. “No, I heard myself. You’re right. You’re right.”

“Your eyebrows are still doing the thing,” Darcy tells her, and Jane’s brows crash together in a deliberately screwy face. 

Darcy takes a minute to be thankful that Natasha is in DC, and not here where she could look at Darcy’s face and read a hundred truths Darcy herself didn’t even know. The problem? As soon as Natasha starts reading them, they become clear to Darcy too.

And Darcy isn’t quite ready for any startling clarity regarding Barnes. 

She is ready for a long night in with Jane, sharing multiple take-out boxes of semi-healthy food, and drinking good wine. 

Jane sends in the order, mainly because Darcy is the worst about agonizing over appetizers. Darcy snuggles into the corner of the couch and grabs the remote. Then she roots around under the couch for the foot massagers Thor saw on an infomercial and bought for movie nights.

She finds a notebook with half completed equations, a pair of 3D glasses, and finally one of the foot massagers. Because she’s a good friend she keeps searching until she finds a second one for Jane.

“Twenty minutes,” Jane reports, tumbling over the back of the couch. “Oooooh, foot massage! Smart.”

“That’s why you kept me around,” Darcy reminds her. “You were like, those smarts and that body? No way I’m letting this misguided poli-sci intern go.”

“I take it we’re not talking about things tonight?” Jane clamps the wine bottle between her thighs and pulls the corkscrew out of her shirt pocket. “Creepy threatening messages things, defense training things, Natasha things, or even not-so-bad neighbor things?”

“I’m going with e, none of the above.” Darcy stops flipping through their options. A girl could never go wrong with  _ Charmed.  _

“I’ll accept that. For now.” Jane pries the cork from the bottle and immediately takes a swig.

Darcy lets out a long breath, letting her muscles relax as she sinks further into the couch. A night drinking straight from the bottle like the class acts they are is just what Darcy needs.

By the time she leaves hours later, she’s tipsy enough that sleep is going to come easy. 

Thanks to her outings with Barnes, instead of being overpowered by resentment she actually appreciates the fact that it’s just a short elevator ride home at the end of the night.

She does an abbreviated night-time routine, quickly washing her face and changing into her pajamas and shuffles to her bed. It feels good sliding between the cool sheets, and she snuggles in, letting her breathing slow. The wine makes her eyelids heavy and her brain quiet.

A good night’s sleep isn’t enough to overpower the dread that has been lurking as Thor’s return date looms ever closer. Bucky definitely noticed something was wrong during breakfast, but he didn’t push. He was extra touchy, briefly rubbing her shoulders while she waited on the toast and setting her feet in his lap while they shared the paper.

That doesn’t do much for her once they part ways, her off to the lab and him headed out into the world in search of more crown molding for her bedroom.

Jane has had enough midway through the workday. “Darce. Do you want me to talk to Thor?”

“No. I don’t want that.” Darcy angrily backspaces through a line of incorrect code. “I don’t need you fighting my battles.”

“Well, you should do it when he gets back. Just straight off. For both your sake and Hogun’s.” Jane eyes the clock. “You want me to check your numbers? You can take a long lunch.”

Darcy takes a look at the three screens with data scrolling. She’d been off ever since she’d spilled her guts at the Thai restaurant with Barnes. Maybe it had all been bubbling at the surface, and it did involve all the people she’d normally talk something through with, but she still can’t believe she told him all of that.

And now, since then, it had been  _ worse. _ Like admitting it all to someone else made it even more real and obvious. She’d put her problem out there, and now she can’t ignore it anymore.

Jane just keeps plodding along. Darcy’s trying to find her groove as a real, legit scientist, and Jane’s established and confident. Darcy is jarringly off path as Hogun tries to get her hands in position to hold a broad sword, and Jane is some kind of prodigy, already adept at most blades. Jane is fierce. Darcy is struggling.

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I’ll grab some lunch and a nap. I’ll feel better after that.” Darcy stands, ignoring her still tender muscles.

Darcy digs her phone out of her lab coat pocket as Jane rolls her chair across the lab. 

Just outside the lab doors, she hesitates. To text Barnes or not.

The last thing he’d sent her was a picture of grout samples. Stark had told her to do her worst when it came to personalizing her apartment. Either he doesn’t know Darcy at all, or he couldn’t give less of a fuck. Neither is more likely, and either way she figures she’s good. So she’d asked Bucky to put up a tile backsplash in the bathroom that looks kind of like mermaid scales.

Yeah. Lunch trapped in her apartment isn’t going to cut it. The thing is, if she was able to leave the building, that wouldn’t be a problem. Darcy loves being home, loves her things, loves her food. But as soon as she’s told she can’t do something, it becomes the forbidden fruit, tempting and distracting and suddenly it’s all she can think about.

**Darcy 11:03AM:**

_ Quick question: coffee yay or yay? _

 

**Bucky 11:04AM:**

_ Can’t. _

 

Darcy waits for something else to come through. Barnes, it turns out, is a major chatterbox. She never would have guessed, back when he’d just been the glowery dude she saw from afar. And then the patio ruining food thief who never fucking answered his door.

But nothing else comes.

Groaning, she pushes up from the wall and starts towards the elevator. She keeps groaning, trying to shake off her shitty mood. The only other people with access to this floor anyway are Jane and Thor. And Tony and Pepper, but they never stop in. Yay for security.

Even on the elevator she’s safe from seeing anyone else. There are multiple elevator systems. Only two go to the restricted labs and high-security residential floors. Which means there are around a dozen people who use them, and right now most of them are out fighting the good fight.

At the security desk she’s assigned Jenkins. Jenkins is one of the no talking on the job guys, and she also has no chill. If Darcy didn’t register it at the desk, they aren’t stopping there later. Not even food trucks that are on the way. She stays within arm’s reach of Darcy and may not actually know how to smile.

That still isn’t as bad as Gilwater or Brunner, who both act like Darcy was put on this earth only to annoy them and following her around is a gigantic waste of their time.

Jenkins knows all the rules - Darcy would seriously not be surprised to find out her employee handbook was tattooed to her arm for quick reference - and has already called a Stark company car.

No walking and no cabs. Darcy wonders if Barnes doesn’t know about the rules, or if he just doesn’t care.

The cars are all the same, even if they’re not the same make or model. Bulletproof glass, super sound insulated, and with cloud-like seats. It makes her feel disconnected from the world outside. Jenkins sits up with the driver, leaving Darcy alone in the backseat, as always, wondering how in the hell this is her life.

She belongs out there, on the street. Pushing through the crowds, experiencing the city. She’d always dreamed of coming to New York. Going to the street markets, spending a day in Central Park getting too much sun, being the worst kind of tourist and spending a day or two walking around with her head tipped back.

She hasn’t even been on the subway yet.

And after she eats her lunch next to someone who won't order anything and won't talk to her, she’ll be driven back to the Tower, with its sound-blocking, missile-proof windows, and restricted floors.

Is Darcy aware that this all sounds like a poor little rich girl routine? Yes. Oh, poor Darcy. Hired by the best company in the world, master’s degree paid for, free luxury apartment. She’d have killed for this set up a few years ago. She has access to her own account on the Tony Stark version of Netflix, can order food delivered from anywhere in New York or from the cafeteria downstairs, her groceries are delivered, and toilet paper magically appears every time she starts to run low.

Does that make it all worse? Yes.

“Lunch didn’t work,” Jane notes as Darcy settles back in at her desk.

Darcy ignores her, scanning her results.

“You’re all tense.” Jane pokes the back of Darcy’s neck. 

“Stop.” She attempts to stifle her rising annoyance. 

“And cranky.”

“Jane, seriously. Stop.”

“If you aren’t going to talk to them, I will. This is silly, Darcy.” Jane immediately holds her hands out when Darcy’s head whips up. “And no, I didn’t mean it like that. I understand why this is hard, and I don’t think  _ you’re  _ silly.”

“Please tell me what part of this is silly then,” Darcy invites, already regretting this entire conversation. None of this is Jane’s fault. But she’s got weeks of fear and anxiety she’s been ignoring, and Jane just waved a red flag.

“The part where you keep putting off a conversation you know you need to have, and letting yourself be forced into doing something that makes you very unhappy,” Jane says seriously. “As your friend, you know I can’t just stand by.”

“I said I would talk to them, and I will. Stop pushing me right now, or I’m going to yell, then you’re going to yell, and we’ll both feel bad later.”

“But-”

“Jane!” Darcy yanks open her drawer and pulls out her iPod, jamming the earbuds into place. The music that comes on is sufficiently loud, but she has to switch to something a little less happy. Darcy is not walking on sunshine right now, and the implication that someone else is just pisses her off more. Courtney Love and Hole should do nicely. 

Forcefully adjusting her holo-screen, Darcy turns her back to Jane and tries very, very hard to focus on science and only science. It takes her a couple hours, but she does hit that awesome groove where everything makes sense and the real world recedes.

She loves that groove.

Only her rumbling stomach pulls her out of it. She yanks her earbuds out to find herself alone in the lab. There’s a plate with two bags of Chex Mix and a Capri-Sun on it - Jane’s peace offering.

Which brings on Darcy’s guilty feelings. Someday she’s going to handle her emotions like a well-adjusted adult and not a sulky teenager. 

She should be able to express her emotions, explain her needs, and be a decent friend. And not just to Jane, but to Thor and Natasha.

When the elevator doors open on her floor, it’s to Barnes standing in front of his door. He looks back at her, probably some reflex.

He looks like shit. All glower and ice again, except now she can see how dead his eyes look. Which is not okay, because he’s - well, that’s just not how Barnes is. Every time she’s talked to him since he crashed on her couch, he’s been all wit and sizzle and spark.

His one word text earlier. His unusual silence since then, no comments on what music he’s listening to or picture updates on his progress that always make things look much worse than they are. Darcy holds out her arms.

“Come on, Barnes. It’s a camp out on the couch kind of night.”

He watches her with those dead eyes, which flick over her. The slight hesitation at her ankle tells her he clocked the knife she’d got tucked into her boot.

Just when she’s about to lower her arms, he takes a step towards her. She wiggles her fingers at him, because he almost seems to expect her to be afraid. She’s not gonna be afraid of the guy who needed constant reassurance that he was cutting the vegetables correctly when she made soup two nights ago.

“Should I go find someone else to give me a hug?” Darcy asks him.

That seems to do it, and he closes the gap between them.

Okay. Hugging him should not feel this nice. First time hugs are supposed to be nice, but a little awkward. Barnes just kind of surrounds her, sinks into her. It’s natural to nestle into that spot between his shoulder and his neck.

The way he buries his face in her hair demands more, it speaks to her on some instinctual level, and she tightens her arms around him.

“Yep, definitely a couch night.”

“That couch is awful.” He starts to pull back, but his arms stay around her. After the day she’d had, Darcy is all for it. But dissing her glorious couch is completely uncalled for, and she gasps loudly.

“Take it back. That couch is fucking magic.”

“It’s hid-”

Darcy smashes her hand over his mouth, and something in her lightens up just a little, seeing the corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile.

“You were doing it wrong. You say that shit to my face after I show you how.” She grabs his wrist and pulls him into her apartment. “Shoes off, you can’t couch with shoes on.”

She makes him pick a restaurant. He’s weird sometimes about choices, and she knows there’s probably a bunch of terrible reasons behind that. She is pretty sure, and mildly horrified by this fact, that he eats a depressing amount of Hot Pockets and frozen dinners. The bad TV tray ones. With the little portion of the corn that squeaks against your teeth. When he does actually engage though, he gets into it. Debating which hot sauce is better, hating on ranch like the weirdo he is, and refusing to share his dessert.

He places the order, then pads into the living room.

“Okay, so lay down. You’ll notice the use of a pillow. That’s for your face, since this fabric has grooves. The grooves make it extra cozy with a blanket.”

He flops onto the couch, arms going limp.

“Hilarious.” Darcy nudges his leg the rest of the way up. Then she lifts his arm into place, the metal cool against her skin. “Now, why does this look familiar? All that’s missing is blood and drool. And the gum that was on your shoe.”

“Gum?” He opens one eye. “Are you serious? You’re pulling my leg, admit it, doll. There wasn’t any fuckin’ gum.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Darcy smirks, then pushes against his shoulder. He lets her arrange him, all with a bored expression. Finally, she yanks his right arm forward, then drops onto the couch next to him, pulling the blanket around them.

She pillows her head on his arm and snuggles in. “Now we fight over what to watch. Unless this couch is still ‘hideous’ and ‘awful’, that is? Should we get up? We can get up, if  you want.”

“Shhhh.” He reaches around her, his metal hand closing around the remote.

“Don’t shush me. You have to admit you were wrong.”

“Shhhhhhhhhhhh.” He curls the arm under her head up, so his forearm is pressed against her mouth.

“Again with the shushing,” Darcy says, turning her head this way and that to avoid his arm. “Whaaaat! We are not watching that until you finish the book! Give me that remote!”


	11. Chapter 11

Bucky tugs his baseball hat lower on his head, gripping Darcy’s elbow to steer her around a clump of tourists taking pictures in front of the Tower as she digs in her purse for her sunglasses.

“I had it,” she says, even as he tugs her off a collision course with a fire hydrant. He catches a receipt that escapes her purse as she pulls her hand back out, clutching the pair of bright yellow daisy sunglasses she’d bought at a corner stall a few days ago.

It feels good being out again, especially after yesterday. It had been decidedly chilly, so another warm day is appreciated. Not that Darcy had adjusted her wardrobe choices. Her logic that it’s October, which means hats and scarves, doesn’t do much to prevent her from getting too warm. She’s damn stubborn.

It’s not just the sun that’s easing something inside him though. He doesn’t have to see Dr. Calderon for another few days.  

Yesterday’s appointment had not gone well. The woman is a bloodhound when it comes to shit Bucky doesn’t want to talk about. Even though he hadn’t so much as hinted at Darcy’s existence, the other woman seems to know something has changed.

Bucky doesn’t know why he feels so damned protective about letting someone know about whatever he’s got going on with Darcy. If he can keep her to himself for a little bit longer, he won’t have someone else putting labels on it, probing it.

He’d told Darcy it had just been a rough appointment. She hadn’t pressed. There hadn’t been any judgement in her eyes.

Now they’re on their near daily coffee run, which will probably include some furniture shopping since science is done for the day. Bucky has been to more furniture stores in the last week than most people see in a lifetime. Little ones tucked into cramped corner shops, and giant ones that seem to go on and on.

He does not react when she gasps dramatically, or flinch when her hand clamps around his wrist. He’s spent at least an hour a day with her for the past week and a half, more than that most days.

“Barnes.” She turns, facing across the street. “I have found your sunglasses.”

“We’re supposed to be getting coffee before anything else,” Bucky reminds her, and she beams over her shoulder at him.

“Yes! I have converted you! Mr. One Cup Black and I’m Good.” She wiggles her shoulders in the little move she does when she impersonates him, her voice gruff.

Gripping him by the hand she drags him into the store. Every wall is covered in racks of sunglasses. An entire shop, devoted to sunglasses, of all things. After a second, she tugs him over to one side.

“Jesus, doll,” Bucky mutters after checking a price tag.

“Shut it. Unless you want to go out to one of the knock-off stands. For something that _goes on your face_.” She smirks at him, still apparently delighted by his small rant the other day. Bucky doesn’t think it’s that odd that he doesn’t want something turning the sides of his nose green. She grasps his chin in her hand, squishing his lips together. “Your precious, precious face.”

Bucky pulls free, even if he does like it when she initiates contact. “You like my face, Lewis.”

“Who wouldn’t like your face?” Darcy snatches a pair of sunglasses off the rack and shoves them onto his face. She tilts her head, examining him, her bright red lips pursed. “Okay, that should be illegal, give them back.”

“No, let me see.” Bucky ducks away from her grabby hands, and finds a mirror.

Steve might be okay with wearing whatever showed up in his closet, but Bucky has always enjoyed looking good. Steve still has stuff SHIELD had given him, and the punk should know by now that pleated pants aren’t in style.

He does look good in the sunglasses. Even better, they look like a pair he used to wear.

“Illegal, huh?” Bucky turns to eye her. She scoffs and returns to looking over the racks.

“Yeah, you’re so pretty. How about these ones?” She shoves a pair of bright red, over-sized ones at him.

“I could make those look good.” Bucky takes a step closer to her. She’s flustered, and the color is rising in her cheeks. It turns out that he really, _really_ likes it when that happens.

“These ones?” She holds out another pair, and this time, she doesn’t look away again. In fact, her pupils constrict as she holds his gaze.

Bucky feels the awareness surge between them, and also something unfurling in his chest. Something tentative and soft and warm. For this woman who is bold and irreverent and kind, who curses at him and is a terrible nurse and who feels like heaven in his arms.

“Can I help you find anything?” a woman asks, her tone inquisitive. Bucky huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “We actually just got a new shipment, if you’d like to see more.”

“We’ll take both of these,” Bucky says as Darcy blinks and takes a big step backwards.

Within minutes they’re stepping back out into the sunshine. Bucky puts on the red sunglasses.

Darcy watches and shakes her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Bucky checks his reflection in the closest window. The red frames are bright, loud, and boxy. “Told you I could make these look good.”

“Have I introduced you to Carly Simon yet?” Darcy asks, her step stuttering at a loud bang on the street.

“Car accident,” Bucky tells her, realizing she can’t see over the over the truck closest to them. Just in case, he scans the street again, more thoroughly.  [Driver of orange smart car, older woman in an attention grabbing outfit, unlikely to be an agent.] [Driver of the cab, 30s, body gone soft from over indulgence, yelling loudly. Unlikely to be an agent.] [Man, 50s, leaning in the doorway to a lingerie shop. Lighting a cigarette. Attention solely focused on the accident] [Barton across the street, stalking a rat that stole his french fry basket. Unaware of Darcy and Bucky _and_ the accident.] It could be a distraction. But everything is normal. Or at least, what passes for normal in New York.

“That’s what we’re listening to tonight while we make dinner. Oh! And we can watch _Working Girl_!” She bounces on her toes as Bucky reaches around her to open the door to the coffee shop.

The smell of espresso overtakes them just a few steps inside. Most of the tables are filled with people tapping away at laptops, and Bucky catches a hint of lemon in the air.

“Think they’ve got your muffins,” Bucky tells her.

“What? But we’re so late!” She picks up speed, taking her place in line. Up on tip toes, she tries to peer around the people in front of her to see the baked goods.

There’s only one lemon berry cream muffin left in the glass case. Bucky tries to measure the people in line, but then he catches one of the baristas staring at him. The man points at the case. Bucky nods, and the man pulls the muffin out and puts it in a paper bag, setting it aside.

“Yes! Preferential treatment!” Darcy dances in place. “Coffee shop level up! All is right in my world again.”

Bucky orders for both of them, since she’s busy burying her nose in the bag. Yes, he’d thought all the fancy drinks people were carrying around at the Tower were just another strange part of living in the future that made no sense. Especially after he found out how much they cost.

But now Steve can pry Bucky’s triple shot mocha with extra chocolate sauce from his cold, dead hand.

“We made up some chocolate whipped cream. Figured you guys would be in, so we saved some,” the barista says, handing Bucky’s card back. Bucky had over-tipped. Darcy had explained that was the only way to go, and it’s definitely paying off. “You guys want to give it a try?”

“If the question involves chocolate, you can just assume yes,” Darcy tells him, cramming another couple bills into the tip jar.

Which effectively makes their tip absolutely absurd. Since it got them chocolate whipped cream, Bucky says nothing.

Armed with their coffees, Bucky and Darcy hail a cab to take them to the next furniture place on Darcy’s list. She hardly seems to be looking at tables though, and today she challenges him to testing every couch in the store to see if a single one can compare to the monstrosity.

Bucky follows her through various collections set up to look like different living rooms. It’s another used furniture store, and it smells of furniture polish and leather.

He lays on every single couch in the place. Pinks ones, blue ones, ones with orange and brown flowers. He does not admit that not a single one of them comes close to the monster. But her smile is smug and she looks at him knowingly out of the corner of her eye.

When Bucky points out a penguin figurine in the back of a shelf of knick-knacks, she insists he pulls it down for her. It’s four dollars and she smiles down at it in her palm.

They spend more time walking through the light fixture section. Not even half of it is hanging. Most of the fixtures are in beaten up cardboard boxes. Bucky can’t really see anything special in them, left cockeyed, broken and dust covered.

But Darcy moves along the rows of boxes, sometimes squatting down to look closer, slurping her coffee. Once she even lifts one out of the box, a chandelier. He doesn’t realize what’s she’s doing until she’s already standing up, the crystals clinking together quietly. He braces her with one hand behind her back when she drops back a step under the weight.

“Where’s this gonna go?” he asks as she critically studies it.

“This isn’t the one anyway.” She slowly lowers it back into the box.

Bucky frowns, thinking he recognizes the way she’s suddenly willing to be distracted by just about anything. He follows when she starts walking again. “Sure, but you’re lookin’ for a fancy chandelier. Where’s it gonna go?”

“A girl can’t just look?”

“After a week of fixing things up for you, I feel very confident in saying that I think you’re the kind of dame to always have a plan.”

Her eyes dart to the side, and it only makes him more curious. Her lips tighten in a stubborn line.

“Where’s it gonna go, sunshine?”

“In my closet, okay?” She raises that chin again, giving him a look somewhere between imperious and rebellious. “I’m probably never gonna have a big walk-in closet like the ones Tony puts in again, so I’m getting a chandelier and one of those fancy benches.”

After a few minutes of silence, she turns on him. “Well?”

“Don’t know what you’re looking at me for. The lady wants a chandelier in the closet, the lady gets a chandelier in the closet.”

“Okay, now he’s humoring me.” Darcy marches towards the cashier’s counter.

“Always.”

“Did this kind of cheese work with ladies back in the day?” She sets the penguin on the counter.

“Cheese? Dollface, it worked every night and twice on Saturdays.”

“You’re a goofball.”  She accepts her change and puts the newspaper wrapped penguin in her purse.

“Me?” Bucky leads the way to the door and holds it open for her. Then he straightens to his full height and glowers at her. “‘M the scariest assassin in the world. You callin’ the Winter Soldier a goof?”

One skeptical brow arches as she looks him over, starting at his boots and working her way up. Her eyes narrow and she reaches up, flicking his bottom lip before turning on her heel and starting down the sidewalk. “Yep. Chop chop, we’re losing daylight.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Bucky: 5:37PM**

_ Stop pacing. _

**Darcy: 5:37PM**

_ Can’t help it. Did you see the plate I put in your fridge? _

**Bucky: 5:38PM**

_ Somehow I didn’t miss the notes stuck to my door, TV, and bathroom mirror telling me about it. _

**Darcy: 5:38PM**

_ You’re grumpy when you’re hungry. Shit! He’s here! _

**Bucky: 5:39PM**

_ What did you just knock over? Do you need me to come over? _

**Darcy: 5:40PM**

_ It’s fine. Stay there. But you’ll have to patch the wall tomorrow. Sorry. _

**Bucky: 5:40PM**

_ You know it’s not a problem. After dinner, I’ll take you out for ice cream, okay? _

**Darcy: 5:41PM**

_ Thanks, Barnes. _

 

Darcy hides as much of the debris from her poor shelf under the couch as she can. It’s one she’d set up herself, and maybe the wall attaching thing had been necessary. Her years with Jane in the lab had lead her down the path of duct tape and welding, neither of which had done much good when it came to setting up her apartment.

The duct tape is totally just sticking up all over, with bits of drywall clinging to it.

She runs for the door, yanking it open to reveal a beaming Thor on the other side, fresh from space adventures.

The tension that had been building for the past two days, ever since Jane had reminded her that Thor was due back, can’t help but dissipate a little in the face of Thor’s hug.

Of course, all that does is remind her how important Thor is to her, what a good friend he’s become, and then she’s completely stressed again.

She doesn’t want to change things. She  _ likes  _ the way Thor looks at her, like she’s the best thing since sliced bread. And maybe he might try to pretend like he’s not disappointed, but he’ll treat her differently and slowly she’ll stop being his lightning sister and instead she’ll just be Jane’s friend that won’t get with the program.

Except Darcy knows him better than that.

“Jane tells me you wish to speak with me?” Thor opens the bag hanging from his shoulder. Experience tells her it will contain gifts. Gifts like the blue pelt that covers the end of her bed, the enormous sea glass floats that hang in her library sending light dancing around the room, and the damn near orgasmic truffles he’d brought two years ago.

Darcy accepts a package wrapped in fabric and tied with a glowing yellow ribbon and steps back, waving him into her apartment.

“And she also said that you made dinner to welcome me home.” Thor follows his nose directly to the kitchen. He then proceeds to check all the cooking elements, starting with the toaster, until he finds the casserole in the oven. “Lightning Sister, you honor me with your talents.”

“It’s just cheesy chicken and pasta,” Darcy objects, as she has many times. She’d once gone all out and made Jane and Thor lamb but cheesy chicken and pasta remains Thor’s absolute favorite ‘Midgardian delicacy’.

“With the cactus noodles?” Thor squats to peer through the oven window.

“You know it, big guy,” Darcy promises. She’d bought them in New Mexico as a lark, macaroni noodles shaped like cactuses. Thor insists they hold the cheese better, so now she special orders them. She also has a pack of Christmas tree shaped noodles for during the holidays, to surprise him with.

“What is this?” Thor stands to touch a leaf trailing from the small shelf Bucky had hung. She’d packed it with kitchen herbs and Friday makes sure to adjust the window tint during the afternoons so they get plenty of light. Thor nudges the edge of the shelf, then turns to her looking impressed. “This shelf seems most secure.”

“Yeah, I made a deal with Barnes. He does stuff around my apartment, I feed him.” Darcy fidgets, still overrun with nerves. “I’m actually not sure which one of us is getting the better deal, dude eats  _ a lot _ .”

“The sergeant lays claim to your food in exchange for labor?” Thor turns fully to face her. “Darcy, you know that I am always willing to-”

“You suck at this kind of ‘labor’.”

“A Prince does not ‘suck’ at anything, sister. I have merely the opportunity to best another challenge, which I shall, for the bounty is both great and-”

“No. You destroyed two walls, broke my sink in half, and do we even need to talk about Jane’s bed in the research van?” Darcy props her hands on her hips as Thor narrows his eyes at her. “You suck at home repair, and you’re not ‘besting the challenge’ in my apartment. Go take some classes at Home Depot.”

“Perhaps I shall.”

“You go. All of the support.” Darcy pats his arm. “Now slice the bread. It’s almost time to eat.”

It’s fairly easy to get him talking about his trip. He tells her about a planet with three moons, giant plains creatures that can see a person’s soul, and of course, the obligatory stories about Fandral’s various seductions, those that were successful and those that were decidedly not.

Darcy’s tells him about her foray into the Canadian wilds with Jane, searching out a strange energy disturbance. Their snow boots hadn’t even begun to be enough for the winter, and Tony had been actually helpful and had better winter gear air dropped along with the best egg drop soup that had ever graced Darcy’s tongue. 

She tells him about how well she and Jane get along with Tony and Bruce, although all four of them deny it. Tony can be really annoying what with his propensity to add explosions and fire to everything, including the time Darcy tried to make four cheese grilled cheese and tomato soup down in the lab, but Bruce has an amazing selection of teas and is great with a fire extinguisher.

He asks if she’d continued her morning jogs without him. When Natasha had left, no longer around to strong arm Darcy and Wanda into morning misery, Thor had stepped in. Without saying so much, or guilting them, he’d managed to keep them accountable. Also, Thor isn’t opposed to a good old fashioned halfway point doughnut stop, unlike some other people. Wanda had been extremely wary around everyone, and Thor had made it his mission to befriend her. Darcy is happy to report that her doughnut addiction is thriving, and that Wanda had even started talking books with Darcy. Right now Wanda’s got Darcy’s copy of Joan Didion’s  _ The Year of Magical Thinking  _ and Darcy’s got Wanda’s copy of Herta Muller’s  _ The Appointment. _

Like Jane, Thor insists on cleaning since she’d cooked. Unlike Jane, he doesn’t get distracted part of the way through doing the dishes, abandoning a soapy skillet on the counter and wandering off patting wet hands against his pockets in search of a pen. Mindless chores are never mindless for Jane.

“Now tell me, what is it that you wish to discuss?”

Darcy takes a deep breath. She has both Jane and Bucky’s support. “I’m planning on ending my training with Hogun.”

“Ah.” Thor nods, carefully setting her sunny yellow casserole pan in the drying rack. “Your personalities are very different. Also, I believe you remind Hogun of a lost friend.”

“It’s not just that. I think I’m just going to…maintain my current level.”

“Nonsense. Volstagg would be a fine instructor.” Thor makes quick work of wiping down the sink, and then the surrounding counters, a dish towel tossed over one shoulder.

“No.” Darcy winces. Thor stops, cocking his head to the side. Concern flashes in his eyes, and she hurriedly continues. “I’m happy with my current level of ability. I like my tasers, and I’m cool with knowing how to throw off an attacker, but I don’t want to…”

She groans with frustration. “There’s nothing wrong with you or Jane or Natasha or anyone else who can do all of that, but  _ I  _ can’t. I don’t like it. It’s not who I am, and the more I do it, the more it turns me into someone I don’t recognize, someone I don’t want to be.”

“You are a fine warrior,” Thor starts, and gives her a stormy look when she opens her mouth to object. She stares him down, raising her chin. “From the moment I met you I recognized your warrior’s spirit.”

The taser story. He loves the taser story, and he tells it with the same expansive motions and theatrical voices that he tells stories of fighting entire invading armies. Darcy used to love it, but lately it’s worn on her, a sick feeling brewing in her stomach as she feels more and more like a pretender.

“I know.” Darcy feels her heart sink, even as she tries to work out what to say next.

“I have failed you,” he says on a deep sigh.

“What?” The words she’d barely grasped onto, begun to form, flee.

“Your warrior’s spirit is what first drew my attention. It is with pride that I present you to my friends and even my enemies as the sister I have chosen.” Thor lays a heavy hand on her shoulder. “You are strong. Not only in spirit, but in mind and in heart. You defend those you love fiercely, not only from those who would attack them, but from themselves.”

Darcy feels tears build as her eyes burn.

“Despite your many traits, and in spite of the trials you have endured, your greatest strength is the kindness you show to your friends, the heart you open to them.” Thor’s hand slides to cup her cheek, turning her face up to him. He smiles down at her. “It is not for me to choose the way you fight your battles. And it would be one of my greatest regrets if the heart I so treasure was damaged in my name.”

Understanding finally glimmers, and relief floods her. She’d been very aware of how much this talk had been weighing on her, how much she’d dreaded it, and still she’s surprised at how bone deep the relief is.

She blinks away the would-be tears. “You didn’t fail me.”

“Still you fight for me.” Thor lets his hand drop. “I’ll speak with Hogun, inform him that his work with you is complete.”

“I almost want to be there, to see if he breaks out in a celebration dance.” Darcy grins, the last of the tension seeping from her body, leaving her slightly giddy.

Thor sees it in her, he knows her well. She’d forgotten that a bit, in all her worry. He holds his arms out, inviting a hug.

His hug is warm and tight and filled with good humor. He lifts her off of her feet, squeezing her tightly enough that she smacks a hand against him to object, like she always does.

Darcy squeezes him back. “I hope you know that you have been the best brother ever to me.”

He stills for just a second, and she can feel him breathing. It’s a treacherous topic, he still struggles with guilt with guilt concerning Loki. Those feelings chip away at the confidence and assuredness that usually seems to come so easily to him.

“I promise that I will always strive to keep that honor.” He sets her back on her feet. “Now, I must leave you.”

“To ravish your lady love, I know, I know. To bask in the splendor of a love most inexorably fated that the stars conspired to bring it about.”

“That was very well done,” Thor grins. “I might use that.”

“Just practicing in case I ever have to pull Princess duty.” Darcy pushes against his chest, and he falls back a step. “Now get out of here. You can’t spend all of your first night back with me.”

She walks him to the door and sends him off with a smile. She’s just collapsed onto the couch when her phone chimes.

**Barnes: 7:01 PM**

_ Okay? _

**Darcy: 7:01 PM**

_ It’s all good. _

**Barnes: 7:02 PM**

_ Wanna watch something? _

**Darcy: 7:03 PM**

_ You just want the leftovers. You can’t see me this way, he turned me into a pile of fluff and rainbows. _

**Barnes: 7:03 PM**

_ Now I gotta come over. _

Darcy rolls her eyes and settles in on the couch, adjusting her blanket and pillows. She truthfully does feel like she’s filled with glitter and marshmallows and all of that.

Barnes lets himself in and comes to a stop near the foot of the couch, arms crossed as he examines her. He doesn’t say anything, he just stares. 

She can’t help it, she beams a smile at him. One of those too wide, skin pulling in her cheeks smiles. 

“Disgusting.” He shudders, shaking his head as he backtracks to the kitchen. A second later he’s yelling back at her, “Is this for me?”

“No, it’s for the other neighbor that comes over every time I cook looking to be fed,” Darcy calls back. She laughs when he emerges from the kitchen with the plate she’d saved for him. “You’re like a stray cat, Barnes. Now that I’ve fed you, it’s going to be impossible to get rid of you, isn’t it?”

“Why would you want to?” He gives her a smug wink, and Darcy looks for something to throw at him. Not the remote, she’d made that mistake before.

Plucking a ceramic fawn off her side table, she chucks it at him, knowing he could probably catch it with his eyes closed.

“I could have let that go. Then where would you be?” He sets the fawn on the floor next to his chair, and goes back to shoveling the casserole into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten all day. Darcy had seen him put away two BLTs and more than his share of their apple slices at lunch.

“I know you wouldn’t.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yep. Because then I’d cry.” Darcy smiles sweetly.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Your face is ridiculous.” Darcy presses play on her latest horror movie selection victoriously and ignores that they’re both smiling.


	13. Chapter 13

“You’ve been busy,” Steve says diplomatically. Except that Bucky knows Steve better than anyone, and he can read everything behind that diplomatic tone, can hear all the questions Steve packs into those three words. Bucky’s grip tightens on his phone. He should have just let it go to voicemail like the other calls.

_ Do you perhaps resent Steve?  _ Dr. Calderon’s voice invades.

“Same as always. Tryin’ to get the doc to agree to fewer appointments.” Bucky leaves his apartment behind, his tool belt over his shoulder. FRIDAY unlocks the door when he reaches it.

He almost trips over a pair of purple high heels just inside the door that hadn’t been there the night before. Last minute wardrobe change? He’d missed breakfast getting in an early morning appointment, the only time the doc was available other than during rush hour Friday.

“Been out of the Tower much?” Steve tries again.

“My appointments. Coffee a few times.” Bucky fights to get a handle on his impatience. He’s not angry at Steve, because Steve didn’t  _ do  _ anything. All of the scenarios Dr. Calderon carefully approached, Bucky could flat out and honestly deny.

He didn’t blame Steve for the train. He didn’t hold it against him that Bucky was in and out of cryo for torture sessions while Steve slept beneath the ice.

That’s the problem with the doc. She’s always screwing his head up now, twisting normal annoyances into great hulking emotional minefields.

“Oh yeah?” Steve attempts to inject some levity to his tone, and Bucky can hear what an effort it is. “Anyone catch your eye?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. Just like the old days, huh? Bucky telling Steve about his date the night before. “Coffee isn’t a real date. How about you? Got a dame down there?”

Steve splutters, and Bucky grinds his teeth, waiting. 

“Nah,” Steve finally manages, and Bucky has to force himself to loosen his grip on the phone.

“Steve, I gotta go.”

“Already? Are you sure everything is okay?” Steve’s voice is firm now. “Look, Buck, I’m gonna come up-”

“No you’re not. We’re respecting the doctor’s orders, right?” Bucky steps into Darcy’s kitchen, peeking in the oven hopefully. It’s empty. 

Then he sees the post-it on the fridge.  _ Frittata in pink container.  _ There is a very poor rendition of a dinosaur under the words.

“Buck,” Steve sighs.

“Said I gotta go.” Bucky opens the fridge and spots the pink container. He doesn’t know what the fuck frittata is, but Darcy’s yet to make something he doesn’t like. That sigh of Steve’s kind of gets to him, and he stills. “I’ll talk to you later, punk.”

He ends the call before Steve can say anything else, and gets directions from FRIDAY on how frittata should be eaten. That’s Bucky’s new motto, when in doubt, ask FRIDAY. Or the message boards on the This Old House forums.

The combination of the morning appointment and the call from Steve has Bucky off all morning. He’s installing extra base trim and crown molding throughout the apartment, along with extra decorative molding around the windows and doors. All of the trim had been delivered yesterday, pre-cut.

He’s been worried since he sent the measurements in that he messed one up, and that doesn’t help. By the time he’s got the living room and kitchen done, he’s feeling better about his chances of making it through the job without having any angles reversed. 

He grabs his discarded shirt from the back of a dining room chair and uses it to wipe down his face, then drains the last of the mint iced tea he’d poured himself. 

It’s surprising what a difference the trim makes. It takes the thoroughly clean lines of the Tower’s apartments and smudges them a little. Softens? Something. It completes some final part of the puzzle, making it so it’s almost crazy to think his apartment next door is a carbon copy of this one.

He washes his glass and sets it in the drying rack, then checks the time and jogs to the door. 

Twenty minutes later Clint’s at his door, bouncing from foot to foot. “C’mon, man. I’m starving.”

“What happened to your face?” Bucky grabs his hat off the table near the door and pulls it on over his damp hair. 

“We can talk about anything other than that.” 

“What happened in Budapest?” 

“Fuck you.” 

Clint’s favorite diner is a place that probably shouldn’t pass health code. That’s one thing that has changed over the years. At least to Bucky’s memory, the places that looked pretty bad usually were pretty bad. Back in the thirties people worked with what they had - the tiles in the corner might be broken, and the faucet might leak, but you could bet it was gonna be sparkling clean if the owner gave even half a damn. 

Now there are mass produced products and restaurant chains so prolific he can see two or three of them on his morning jog. Perfectly clean and put together is just as often a sign of corporate drudge. Unless you’re really spending a chunk of change, you’re usually better off looking for a place with a few scuffs in the tabletops and smudges in the windows. 

This place has that, in spades. Some of the booth’s vinyl seats have been repaired with duct tape and it should be considered a crime if anyone ever cleaned the flat top. 

Also, one of the servers totally reminds Bucky of Steve, back in the day. Five foot nothing, string bean legs, ready to take on the world. Her apron is covered in enamel pins from  _ ask me about my feminist agenda  _ to  _ save the bees.  _

Bucky waits until they’ve ordered and Clint is adding sugar to his soda. “Why didn’t you tell me a civilian was moving onto my floor when I helped you move the couch?”

Clint freezes and looks up from the pink sugar packet, “You met Darcy?”

“Yeah, I met her for sure.”

“Look man, I had to tell her who broke the alligator, okay? I felt bad, but the woman holds grudges like you wouldn’t believe.” Clint shakes his head, “Her and Foster? Neither of them have let me forget the whole SHIELD in New Mexico thing. That was six years ago! It’s the whole reason I was even there. Thor tricked me into helping Darcy move saying it would ‘soften her heart to me’.”

“Oh, I know she can hold a grudge. Believe me,” Bucky mutters. 

Clint grimaces. “Sorry? Kind of? Better you than me. And you  _ were  _ the one to break it anyway. Stop trying to make me feel guilty.”

“We are so far past the first breaking of Hank the cowboy alligator,” Bucky tells him. 

Both of Clint’s brows lift and he leans forward. “First breaking? Oh, shit.”

Bucky frowns as Clint nods his head, encouraging him to spill. The other man is just a little too delighted by this.

Clint had shown up on Bucky’s patio shortly after Bucky had come to stay at the tower. Bucky had the whole floor locked down while Steve was gone on a mission with Tony and Natasha. Then some idiot had rappelled onto his patio and almost got his head blown off.

They’ve been some kind of friends ever since, no matter what Bucky had to say about it. At the time, it had really been his only access to half-decent food that didn’t make him feel pathetic. There’s nothing wrong with eating alone, but when you’re eating alone and the only person you’ve talked to in a week has been your therapist and your best friend has been sent away because maybe you rely on him too much? That feels different.

“You don’t just lead in with that and then clam up man, not cool.” 

“I’m really feeling the concern here.”

Clint doesn’t look to bothered by that. 

“No one told me they were putting a civilian on my floor.”

“FRIDAY has security lockdown protocols, and Darcy can take care of herself.” Clint grabs the salt shaker and starts spinning it. 

“Yeah, but it was a bigger deal to her than say, Vision, when I would shut off the elevator access to our floor, with a four floor buffer.” 

“You made her walk up five flights of stairs?” Clint blows out a low whistle, “Oh, the SHIELD agents that have flashbacks from inconveniencing her less.” 

“Yeah, I found out about that at the same time I found out that the extra groceries I’d been picking up from downstairs wasn’t stuff Steve had been sending.”

Clint laughs, eyes bright. “Damn, Barnes. And can I just say that up until this very moment I thought that Natasha had been joking when she told me you had a flair for the dramatic when it came to storytelling?” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, “Which she told me while I was scraping ten pounds of cemented bird shit off her patio, the unintended result of my kicking the peanut shells off my patio so  _ I _ didn’t end up with ten pounds of cemented bird shit caking it.” 

“This just keeps getting better. Worse.” Clint’s lips twitch at the corners of his mouth as he tries not to laugh. “Better.”

“Which I was doing in the first place as part of an attempt to get her to forgive me for passing out drunk on her couch, busting her coffee table, and bleeding on stuff after she caught me breaking Hank. Again.”

“Holy shit. If they sold alcohol here, I’d buy you a drink. I mean, that’s impressive. And if  _ I’m _ telling you a fuck up is impressive, well.” Clint leans in again. “How pissed was she? Did she tase you? No, no. She can be petty, and she’s scary smart. Scary smart.”

“We’re good, actually.” Bucky takes a sip of his own soda, draping his arm over the back of the seat. He’s got to be careful and not overplay his casualness here. 

“You’re good,” Clint repeats dully, utterly nonplussed.

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah. I scraped off her patio. Did a couple little projects around her apartment for her. I bring up her groceries, she lends me music, lets me have leftovers. Have you heard of Beyonce?”

“Woah, woah, woah. She gives you food?” All of Clint’s amusement is gone. He wipes at gathered tears of mirth with his thumb, now all business. “Did she give you the stronganoff? Man, the stories I have heard about that stroganoff.”

“Not yet, but I bet I can just ask.” Bucky leans back in his seat to pull his phone out of his pocket and quickly texts Darcy. He’s hoping that she’ll come through, and fast, when the message flashes on his screen. He turns it to show Clint. “Why? Pretty good?”

“She has  _ you _ doing work around her apartment? Do you even know how electricity works? I spent four summers picking up extra money on a build crew,” Clint sputters. 

Bucky holds up his hands. “I’m sure she’d love it if you helped out. Apparently Tony’s people said she was low priority. Her work order just got pushed back again. To May.”

“No way, man.” Clint shakes his head. “She won’t agree to it. Thor had to earn her forgiveness when she found out he let me in her mostly empty apartment.”

Clint holds up a hand, “By the way, Thor makes it fucking impossible to earn Jane and Darcy’s forgiveness. Dude spills someone’s coffee and it’s a trip to a world where flowers float and there’s some kind of orgasmic taffy. Who can fucking compete with that? Who?!”

“Look, leave it to me. Can you be there tomorrow? I guess she and Jane are going to start running some simulations. She’ll be gone all day, and she said she’d put something in the crock pot for me, whatever that is.”

“You get me the okay, I’m there.” 

Their food arrives, two overflowing plates and an extra basket of fries. Bucky settles in, his mission done. Darcy’s getting the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in her library, the mermaid tiles in her bathroom, and the new tile floor in the kitchen. And Clint has no idea what he just signed on for.


	14. Chapter 14

Darcy really isn’t sure what to think. 

It had been an extra early start. That’s bad enough, but there had also been a few technical difficulties. A day that had her crawling along the floor manually checking equipment connections by six in the morning doesn’t have a lot going for it.

By noon the data looked promising, so that’s an uptick.

Catching the hem of one of her favorite t-shirts on a jagged metal edge she’d known better than to leave that way? That had her grumbling under her breath on the elevator ride back up to her floor, holding her badly ripped shirt together.

Marsden and Kothari both edge over to one side and don’t speak to her, which is pretty satisfying. She’d worked hard to earn a rep that keeps the security department out of her hair.

But this?

This?

It had been one thing, walking into her apartment only to find Barton on his way through her living room, carrying a bucket and a scraper. Darcy has seen Thor shirtless often enough to have her knee-jerk reaction to truly prime pectorals and biceps on lockdown. Archery does a body good, she can admit. And the toolbelt, and light sheen of sweat? Yeah, that’s kind of a lot.

But Barton still kind of reports to SHIELD in some ways, and SHIELD is still shady as fuck when it comes to science and the stealing of. 

She was gonna be nice though, for once. Because he’s covered in white paste,  _ really  _ sweaty, and he’s got knee pads on. 

Then Bucky walks in. He’s wearing his work jeans. The ones that are soft and paint splattered and soft. The soft part is important. It means they lovingly cup certain parts of his body. Plus there are more than a few holes, one tantalizingly high on his thigh.

Oh, and he’s also shirtless. Again. Now with added toolbelt. Carrying a power drill. 

Before she has time to even begin to recover, he zeroes in on her hand clutching her shirt together.

“What happened?” He stops in front of her, inches away, and reaches for her shirt. At the last second he stops himself and instead his hand hovers over hers. “Are you hurt?”

When he breathes, his shiny, shiny ab muscles move. His skin has that natural olive skin tone, perpetual healthy glow, and he’s got those cut v lines that are just not fair. They disappear into the waist of his low slung pants, and then there’s the tool belt slung around his hips.

Also, safety glasses should not be doing it for her. They should not. What the hell is up with that? 

Darcy manages a step back at the last minute. Her lack of response had him reaching for her shirt again, and if he touches her right now, it’s all gonna be over. Who could fucking blame her if she just started peeling those jeans off him? 

“I ripped it,” she blurts. “Just have to change really fast. We’re in the middle of the third data set.” 

Darcy does not look at either of them. Barnes because maybe he noticed. He’s a smug asshole when he catches Darcy admiring certain attributes. Like his lips. Face. Arms. The strip of skin between his waistband and the hem of his shirt when he reaches for something on the top shelf for her. 

Clint because maybe he noticed. And the last thing Darcy needs is outside witnesses to her largely involuntary response to Barnes. No one should judge her, anyone could look at him with their own two eyes and see that he is seriously one of the most beautiful men ever put together. Honestly, there should be some kind of law on the books about eyelashes over a certain length on a man. 

“Did you stir the mushrooms in the crockpot?” Darcy asks over her shoulder, beelining for her bedroom. She has to step over long boards stacked in the hall on a protective layer of tarp. 

“Yeah,” Bucky answers loud enough for her to hear through her closed door. “Want me to stir it again?”

“No,” Darcy yells back, grabbing another t-shirt from the stack in her closet. Tony’s super fancy closet organizers are truly life changing. Like California Closets on champagne steroids. “I’ll get it!”

When she opens the door again, the boards are hovering at about eye-level height. Ducking her head she looks down the hallway to see that Barton has them braced on his shoulder. Carefully she makes her way under them and then heads for the kitchen. 

It’s cooler in the living room, the patio door has been left open. Out on the patio, her furniture and plants have been covered with plastic sheeting and pushed back into the corner and against the wall. There are a pair of saw horses and tools and more wood.

“Sure you’re okay, doll?” 

“Jesus fuck, Bucky.” Darcy slaps a hand to her chest and tries to get the adrenaline surge under control. 

He frowns, and comes closer. He’s holding a half full glass of tea. 

Darcy shakes her head, knowing what he’s thinking. “Nothing happened, it’s just been a long day already. High-stress. Let me check on the stroganoff, then I need to get back down there. Did you remember to check on it?”

He raises an eyebrow at her. She’d already asked him that. Fifty percent of her brain is focused on tracking a bead of sweat making its way down his stomach, slowly traversing each bump of his abdominal muscles. Forty percent is dedicated to  _ stopping _ . 

In a show of willpower that someone needs to give her a medal for, Darcy turns to the crock pot. Inside, the water is all beaded up on the top of the lid. She lets it dribble back, the lid tipped to the side. The mushrooms and cream have cooked together, making a creamy soup. 

Darcy sets the lid aside, cocked so the rest of the condensation ends up on the waiting paper towel and not her countertop. She’s got the meat ready to go in a ziploc bag in the fridge. 

“This will be good to go in a few hours. Just cook the pasta and stir it in. A box and a half, okay?” 

“If I forget, there’s that handy note over there,” he reminds her.

She cuts a look at him just in time to see him tip his head back, finishing off his glass of tea, adam’s apple bobbing. 

Darcy clears her throat, needlessly smoothing her hands down the front of her new shirt. “Okay, wise ass. I’ve got to get back.”

“Sure you’re okay?” 

She honestly expects him to be smirking when she looks at him again. But he actually seems to be somehow unaware of what the sight of him right now is doing to her. 

“Are  _ you  _ sure he’s not bugging my place?”

“That a real question?” he asks, carefully setting his glass next to the sink. All levity has now vanished from his voice, meaning her attempts to brush him off and exit the apartment as quickly as possible have failed.

Still, Darcy tries another smile. This one a little more genuine, because the small furrow between his brows demands it. Barnes is the literal best houseguest ever, despite his hellacious start. There is plastic sheeting leading from the patio and down the hallway to protect her floors. At the end of the day, his tools will be tucked out of her way. His tea glass will be washed and put away, along with any other dishes he uses during the day. And if she leaves her dishwasher full? That sucker will be emptied too.

“No. You promised, and a Bucky Barnes promise is the gold standard of promises. Or so I’ve been told.” 

One side of his mouth ticks up, and the dimple that has no damn right being as fascinating as it is flickers, “Damn right. If that nogoodnik in there even thinks about betraying your trust, I’ll string’im from the Brooklyn Bridge until you decide what to do with him.”

Well. If that doesn’t bring a smile to a girl’s face. 

Which means he smiles back at her. Bucky Barnes shirtless, in a tool belt, grinning in her kitchen? 

“Gotta go!” Darcy waves a hand back towards the note. “You know what to do. Call me if you have questions, or if I need to check for live helicopter coverage of a certain bridge.”

“What bridge?” Clint asks, coming to a stop just as Darcy whirls, preventing a collision by mere centimeters.

Gross. He is dripping.

And she is not thinking about why that was something she would not have minded at all when it came to Bucky, but with Clint it’s all well and fine for looking but not touching.

Because she’s not touching Bucky. That’s not a thing. That she’s thinking about. 

Darcy hurries back across the living room and resolutely turns her mind back to science. 

“Seriously, what bridge?” Clint asks from behind her. “A space bridge? I feel like you need to tell me, because she didn’t look particularly forgiving just now and she has access to a space bridge.”

“The Brooklyn Bridge. Where I’m gonna tie you if you piss her off-”

“So long as it’s not a space bridge.”

“-while she fires up her space bridge.”


	15. Chapter 15

“Do  _ not  _ bleed on the couch.” 

Darcy stopped steps into her apartment on hearing those words. She’s got a wad of paper towels clamped to the cut on her forehead, so they aren’t directed at her, and she hasn’t got the energy to deal with anything other than a shower and bed. Really, the shower is asking a lot.

But here’s Bucky and Clint in her living room, which is a far sight from the work zone it had been earlier. The plastic sheeting is gone, her patio is set back to rights through the sliding door, and if it wasn’t for the faint scent of wood stain no one would ever know it had been a construction zone earlier.

Unless they looked at Clint, holding one hand in the other, a nail sticking all the way through his palm. Other than the new hardware, Clint looks the same as he had hours ago. Bucky however, is wearing different clothes and his hair is still slightly damp from a shower.

“Just pull it out and let's go,” Clint says impatiently.

“You are going to medical and that’s final.” Darcy’s tone is possibly more severe than she’d intended, but she’d just spent the last hour unsuccessfully dealing with Tony. The resulting explosion had destroyed weeks worth of work. 

“Shit, Lewis.” Clint’s shoulders are hunched. What a wonderful world it would be if she could have the same effect on Tony. She’d tell him to drop something, and he’d drop it. She’d say don’t push that button, and the button would remain un-pushed. She’d say raid your own fridge, and at lunch time she’d have the pierogis she’d packed. She’d say they limited the power input for a reason, and the lab would be unexploded.  

“Damnit, what the hell is this?” Bucky crosses the room in three big steps, reaching to pull her hand away from her head. Before she can really react, he’s taken the paper towels from her and is tilting her head back with his other hand. Cool metal fingers on her chin. “FRIDAY said there was an accident but everything was okay.”

“Everything  _ is  _ okay, why is there a nail in Barton’s hand?” Darcy pulls away from Bucky’s gentle grip, trying to look around him. Yeah. That nail is really in there. Like, she can’t tell if it would be better to push it out or pull it the rest of the way through. Out. Out, duh. The nail head.

“This is nothing.” Barton waves the hand, then grimaces and manages to catch the drop of blood the movement sends flying towards the wall. “I was just finishing up the last shelf while Bucky cleaned up and grabbed a shower.”

Darcy can’t hold back a shudder, even if she has become pretty adept at emergency first aid over the last few years. “That is not nothing. You’re going to medical.” 

“You’re both going to medical,” Bucky declares, only tipping his head down to look her in the eye when Darcy whirls on him. “Fight me.”

Darcy ignores the choked laughter behind her and weighs her options. If she puts her foot down, Bucky will back off. A quick reminder about the worst neighbor ever agreement and he’ll be out of her hair faster than she could snap her fingers. He’s always careful to be sure he’s not overstepping his bounds. It had taken her almost a week to get him to lighten up. 

And she’s not willing to fuck that up. “Fine. Grab the crockpot though. You put the noodles in, right?”

“Yeah, we put the noodles in.” Bucky grabs a roll of paper towels from her side table and tosses it at Darcy. “Why don’t you give Barton the Lewis special while I grab dinner?”

“The Lewis special?” Barton asks warily.

“He thinks he’s funny,” Darcy explains. “Give me your hand.”

He only watches her through narrowed eyes.

“Don’t be a dumbass, Clint.” 

He holds out the impaled hand and Darcy quickly swaddles it in paper towels. Then she pulls one of the three hair ties on her wrist and gently secures the towels in place.

“This is the Lewis Special?”

“You’re not going to drip in the elevator, are you? Jesus. Everyone’s a critic.” She pulls off another few squares for herself because she can feel blood dribbling down her temple. Which means the cut still hadn’t clotted, and she does actually need to go to medical. “Did you get forks?”

“Yeah, I got forks, woman.” Bucky turns so she can see the three forks and even some napkins clenched in his hand against the crock pot. 

None of them speak again until they’re in the elevator. 

“Was it Jane’s hydraulic lift?” Bucky asks quietly. Darcy isn’t even surprised anymore when he knows shit - he is seriously the best listener she’s ever met. And not even in the super spy saving all of this for later way that Nat is. 

“It was Tony Stark, and I don’t want to talk about it,” she bites out. “FRIDAY, how’s that lab ban going?”

“Ms. Potts has already approved it, and increased it to an all-lab ban,” the AI answers promptly.

“He’s gonna be pissed about that,” Barton laughs under his breath.

“Good,” Darcy and Bucky say at the same time, and she has to bite back a smile. 

In the years since New Mexico, Darcy hadn’t spent much time with Clint. At first because he’d disappeared with the rest of the jack booted thugs, off to do secret agent things that possibly included ruining other scientist’s days. 

When she and Jane had spotted Thor definitely back on Earth in the Battle of New York, they’d spotted Agent Barton, but he’d been pretty low on the priority list. By the time he played rock’em sock’em robots in Sokovia, they’d realized he might be sticking around.

His continued semi-employed status with SHIELD meant that there wasn’t a lot of trust on the astro-science floors of the tower. Said status also meant he was away pretty often. 

All of which means that between intentional and unintentional circumstances, Darcy hadn’t really had a chance to get to know Clint. Going off of his snarky jokes, she probably would have made nice sooner if she had.

She especially likes the way he can draw Bucky into little battles of wit, sniping at each other with sharp words that often cut close to topics Darcy is tentative around. She wonders how long they’ve been friends.

The doctor does not look impressed when she finds them waiting in the exam room, sharing the crock pot of stroganoff. She doesn’t look surprised either, and just tosses her banana tie over her shoulder and sets to work unwrapping Clint’s hand when both Darcy and Bucky point to it. 

Darcy catches sight of her security badge. Catalina Sayri. She has a short cap of dark hair, a cochlear implant, and very fast hands.

“Alright, Ms. Lewis,” Dr. Sayri says as she pulls her gloves off and grabs a fresh pair. She’s been announcing her every move, something that must be for Clint or Bucky’s benefit. Darcy wonders if only certain medical staff are paged for permanent residents of the tower. 

Darcy doesn’t mean to flinch when Dr. Sayri gently pokes at her scrape, but the doctor immediately stills, lifting her hands from Darcy’s face. Bucky reaches over, taking Darcy’s hand in his when Darcy nods for the other woman to continue. 

Darcy is sufficiently distracted by his thumb softly stroking her fingers, right up until the doctor announces she’s going to have to close up the cut. 

“Stitches?” Darcy asks, because she’s done that before. Seven stitches on her chin after flying off a rapidly spinning merry go round at age seventeen after sneaking out to meet her crush. Bleeding all over him hadn’t aroused the passions of love, nor had his having to call her parents and fess up so she could get a ride to urgent care. 

Dr. Sayri snorts derisively. “ _ Stitches _ ?”

The woman slides open a metal tray and pulls out one of the fancy Stark Industries bandages Darcy has seen more than once but never had an occasion to use. Most recently when the doctor slapped one on either side of Clint’s palm. 

“What caused this?” 

“Something hit me in the head. Not sure what it was.” 

“Uh huh.” Dr. Sayri unclips a penlight from her lab coat. “I’m going to shine this in your eyes, for two ten-second intervals.”

Darcy’s eyes water like they always do in this part of the exam, and Bucky’s grip suddenly tightens on her hand. Once the light is flicked off, she looks towards him. “I’m fine, worrywart.”

“What is today’s date?” 

“Uh, it’s Wednesday? The tenth?” Darcy grimaces. “But I never know the date. That’s normal.”

“What did you have for dinner last night?”

“Peanut Chicken Stir Fry. I was born on January 7th. My mother’s telephone number is-”

“Confidential,” Bucky interrupts. 

Darcy nods in acquiescence. “It is. But I know it.”

“Your response time is a little slow. Pupils are normal.” Dr. Sayri steps back, cramming her penlight behind her ear. Darcy wonders if she’ll look everywhere for it like Jane does later. “No work tomorrow. Also, I would prefer you weren’t alone for the next few hours, to make sure it’s nothing more than shock.”

“We have plans. What do I need to watch for?” Bucky is standing at attention. All he needs to do now is pull out a notebook and start taking notes. 

Darcy motions to Bucky, resigned. She zones out while the doctor talks. Clint scoots closer, the crock pot on his knee, and offers her a fork. She’s not sure whose is whose, but it’s not like it matters when they’re eating out of a communal bowl.

Soon Bucky is herding them back towards the elevator and Clint is goading him about being good at this. 

The elevator stops at Clint’s floor, and he turns, backing off of the elevator so he’s facing them. “Look, I’m not saying anything to anyone.”

“About what?” Darcy asks around a full mouth.

“Exactly.” Clint taps his temple as the elevator doors close. 


	16. Chapter 16

Darcy wakes up to the sound of sizzling in the kitchen. She can just barely pick up the strains of  _ Funkytown  _ coming from the kitchen speakers.

Blearily, she looks around the living room. He’d cleaned up. The evidence of their late-night snack binge is gone, as are the cocoa mugs that had last been on her make-shift coffee table. Turning her face into her pillow to get a break from the sun she catches a whiff of her breath and winces. 

Bucky had been adamant that they follow the doctor’s orders last night, insisting Darcy stay up for a few hours with him at least so he could watch her for symptoms. 

It’s an understatement to say that she had not been excited about that development. But it turns out that Bucky is pretty awesome at the whole caretaking thing. 

Somehow along the way drowning her sorrows in multiple cups of cocoa had turned into capping off a pretty okay evening. Somehow she’d ended up introducing him to Jackie Chan movies, and in turn, he’d ended up proving to her that a good portion of the moves were actually possible. (Darcy had always known that Jackie Chan did his own stunts, she’d just assumed he was actually a magician.)

That led to Darcy playing the hapless, doomed villain while Bucky demonstrated different moves. Which ended with her curled up on the couch with him, as one does with their attacker. 

In the wee hours of the morning, after a pint of cocoa and too many Hostess snacks to count, dozing off in Barnes’ arms didn’t seem like such a bad thing. 

Sweet Frigga, she most likely drooled on him. Darcy squeezes her eyes shut, doing her best not to let herself succumb to drowning in embarrassment. Her super helpful brain keeps offering tidbits of anxiety inducing gold - like what if he was only being nice and then couldn’t think of a way to go back to his own place? Had he been stuck spending the night, or did he wiggle out from underneath her and then come back to make breakfast? 

Darcy sits up as  _ Ice Ice Baby  _ comes on. After taking a second to assess her aches and pains, she stands and starts towards the kitchen and the land of coffee. At the last second, she checks her face for dried drool.

He’s at the stove, his back to her as he dances in place to the music. Darcy takes his swiveling hips and the pile of crispy fried potatoes and decides it’s an a-okay way to wake up. 

Especially since the coffee press is half-full, just waiting for her. She lurches towards the coffee, eager to chase away the lingering fuzziness of her brain. 

Armed with caffeine, she shuffles over to take stock of the breakfast situation. Bucky wraps an arm around her and nudges her so she’s swaying to the beat with him. When she’d learned that Tony’s solution to her complaints about living on Jane and Thor’s floor was to shuffle her to super soldier central, she’d done a little research on Bucky. A little for her own safety, and a little so she wouldn’t open her big mouth and dredge up something awful. That research had include six pictures of Bucky in Brooklyn. Two had been fuzzy, faded class pictures. The other four had been candids, and in each of them his arm was thrown around someone. Bucky Barnes is a tactile person, is her point. 

“You want cilantro in your eggs?”

“Look at you, Mr. Fancy. Last week you didn’t even know what cilantro was.” Darcy dodges the spatula he flicks at her. “Spice me up.”

Watching him add some cheese and raid her spice cabinet, Darcy decides introducing him to the cooking channel had been a really smart decision on her part. 

She pours a couple glasses of orange juice and carries them to the table.  _ Real  _ orange juice, because Bucky had practically been personally offended by her Sunny D. 

He brings breakfast over and then tosses a stack of comics onto the table. 

“You got the paper?” Darcy clasps her hand over her heart dramatically, but she’s a little serious. She hates getting the paper in the morning. It’s a whole thing, drinking at least one cup of coffee first, making sure her pajamas are at least halfway decent for other people (no holes in the butt, top not worn enough to be see-through), and then seeing said other people. In the morning. Come to think of it, it’s not the first time Bucky has brought the paper. She hasn’t had to brave the lobby before breakfast in a week. “You’re going to get me used to this, and then I’m going to be banging on your door.”

He shrugs a shoulder, taking the seat next to her. He is an actual giant, like Thor, and Darcy lifts her legs, waiting for him to get settled at her small table. Maybe she’ll do a little table shopping while they’re at the next furniture store. When she lowers her legs, they’re looped over one of his and his foot is braced against the leg of her chair.

“They get delivered.”

Wait.

What.

“They get  _ delivered _ ?” Darcy flips through the papers, but yes, it’s all the comics from all the papers SI has in their lobby.

Bucky freezes, with a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. His eyes flick between the papers and her face. “Yes.”

“Bullshit! I  _ asked  _ for them to deliver to me, but it was ‘the papers as they’re delivered’ or nothing! Who needs eight different front pages full of bad news?” Darcy pounds her fist on the table. “I’ve been schlepping downstairs every morning for months to get just the comics! Those jerkholes!”

“Sorry, doll.” He nudges her plate closer, possibly to distract her. “You keep feeding me, I’ll keep bringing the paper.”

“They get delivered,” she mutters again, but then she nods her head. Yes. She can work with this. She doesn’t have to go get them herself in zombie-mode or have eight full newspapers cluttering up her apartment everyday.  Bucky even got the right ones, the ones she’d carefully selected to avoid too much overlap between nationally syndicated series. Although this does mean she needs to work on her angry face, she’d thought she was doing pretty good but alas. Really though, maybe Bucky went a little Soldier to get the security delivery agents to suck it up? “Ha! I’m totally getting the better deal,  _ you  _ made breakfast today. And I didn’t have to change into real pajamas.”

Bucky eyes her up and down, then winks. “Ya keep wearin’ things like that, no way you’re getting the better end of the deal.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. Cranky possibly concussed her had totally thought comfort was more important than propriety last night. She’d changed into one of Thor’s shirts and ditched pants. Seeing as his shirt almost reaches her knees, she’s not particularly worried.

Bucky saw more of her legs last week when she wore her favorite red dress. 

The thing is, Bucky is the most charming person she’s ever known. Like movie star charming, that people usually only witness on the screen. The kind of charming that he emanates, so a lot of the time he doesn’t even have to say anything, just a look and your pants are charmed right off. He’s like those people that can smolder so easily from magazine covers and people feel like they’re looking right at  _ them.  _ And you mini swoon right there at the bodega and buy a magazine you don’t need, because reasons. 

When Bucky smolders in person, it’s kind of a lot. 

Darcy has to remind herself that Thor’s shirt fits her like a tent, she hasn’t shaved her legs in three days, and there’s a forty percent chance there’s drool in her hair after a night on the couch. 

He’s Bucky Barnes. He charms women, it’s how he communicates with them. It’s lovely and a little thrilling, and so long as she keeps in mind that none of it actually means anything, it’s just fine to enjoy it. Like how her Aunt Beth flirts nonstop with the grocery delivery boy, and he flirts back because Aunt Beth has four decades on him and it’s just a mutually satisfying way to soak up some compliments. 

Luckily, his phone goes off and he breaks eye contact. Darcy focuses on her eggs, because who likes cold eggs? 

She does look up when Bucky sighs.

“Steve got shot.” He offers without looking up, still scrolling on his phone. He has access to all of the team’s mission reports.

Steve gets hurt a lot, Darcy has learned over her short association with Bucky. So she doesn’t have the reaction she would if someone else had been shot. Bucky would sound more than resigned and annoyed if there was something to worry about. “He’s okay though?”

“Wilson stitched him up and medical cleared him.” He switches to a video feed, Sam’s voice coming from the phone speakers, followed by the loud  _ rap rap rap  _ of gunfire. Sam’s voice is suddenly more frantic, but then Steve is talking.

Bucky closes out the video.

Darcy kicks at his legs until he retracts them a little and she can slide out. Later, she’s going to reflect on how they always end up tangled together under the table. Later.

“No work today.” Bucky reminds her as she reaches for her to-go mug. 

“I won’t  _ work _ work, I’m just going to check on things-” Darcy stops, staring at her mug in horror. “Oh sweet Frigga, I’ve turned into Jane. Wait! I finally feel like a real scientist!”

“This calls for a day of celebration, away from the lab.”

“I see what you did there.”

“Besides, did you see the forecast? Sixty-two. Practically winter, you can wear all the layers and scarves you want.”

“I know you’re teasing me, but I don’t even care. I’m gonna wear my boots.” Darcy spins and gasps, “We’re gonna find those mini pumpkins. And last year someone gave Pepper this pale green pumpkin. I want a green pumpkin.”

“Mission accepted.”

“We can see if we can get Jane and Thor to come with us!” Darcy steals a piece of cantaloupe off his plate, already thinking of ways she can convince Jane to leave the lab clean up for another day. Most involve Thor, and her brain finally catches up to her mouth and she turns her phone over in her hand instead of calling him. ““Would you be … I don’t know, comfortable with that? I mean, are you cool with Thor?”

“Yeah, I’m cool with Thor,” he says in that way he has, when he’s teasing her for her modern way of speaking. Experience tells her he’ll have it folded into his normal speech patterns within a week though. “Give him a call. I’ll clean up.”

Darcy bites her lip, watching as he carries the plates over to the sink. He adds the skillet and the cutting board, then grabs the cleaning spray she uses on her counter tops from the bottom cabinet before noticing her hesitation.

Darcy has a feeling that thing that Clint promised to keep to himself? It’s the way Bucky somehow can step in and make everything better, partially just by being there. Just because Darcy has mentally been avoiding that knowledge like a blast ended skrewt doesn’t mean that it’s not true and easy enough to see for people with eyes.

“Is there a problem?” 

“I kind of need another hug,” Darcy says stiltingly, feeling like an idiot. 

But Bucky’s face clears and he opens his arms. 

When she’s wrapped in his arms, his hand making slow, comforting motions up and down her back, it’s a little overwhelming how good it feels.

They stand there for a second, until finally Bucky breaks. “You alright, doll?”

She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth again and she shrugs her shoulders, rocking slightly forward into him. Bucky tightens his grip, turning his head into her.

“It was just literal weeks of work gone, and I was so mad, and Jane was on fire for a second, I  _ told  _ her not to wear fleece in the lab, and I think I pulled a muscle moving the stupid plant,” she says into his shoulder. “Which the cleaning crew will not be careful enough with, last time they broke off a leaf, but it was too heavy to bring upstairs because Thor takes care of it and I think having a green thumb is one of his superpowers, and it was just a shitty, shitty night.”

Darcy takes a breath and plows on. “And I wanted to say thank you. For staying with me and making it not so shitty.”

That’s about as much heart-baring as she can muster, so she doesn’t tell him how good seeing him when she gets home makes her feel, or that she’d turned down a date to stay in with him because that honestly gave her more butterflies.

She’s just about got a good sarcastic remark ready to go when he presses a kiss into her hair. Sarcasm: destroyed. Warm and fluffy feelings: critical levels. Eyes: possibly pricking with tears.

“Okay, okay. Gotta call the mad scientist.” Darcy pulls back after a deep, bracing breath. “Or at least, her very persuasive boyfriend.”

She waves her phone at him and makes for an escape through the living room.

“Hey, Darce?” Bucky calls just as she’s almost home-free. “Where’s the plant?”


	17. Chapter 17

“Did you have to go to the DMV? Is your picture terrible? Can I see it?” Darcy jerks the wheel as Thor yells left and the tires squeal. Darcy had insisted on driving and Thor is navigating in the passenger seat. Apparently it’s some kind of inside joke that Jane not navigate and Darcy had been under the false impression that Bucky didn’t have his driver’s license. 

Bucky hadn’t known what he was getting into, so his only worry had been to make sure her head felt okay. All that’s left of a deep cut that should have taken weeks to heal is a pink mark just below her hairline, Darcy seems back to normal, and she drives like a madwoman. Bucky’s gonna have to tell Steve she’s worse than Dum Dum behind the wheel. 

“Do I get to see yours?” Bucky asks as they have to slow again in the congested traffic. He’s not sure how Darcy is getting any enjoyment out of driving in the city, but she is. Outside his window the sun is shining brightly off glass and steel, and the sidewalks bustle. They’re not far from the strange little greenhouse they’d gone to a few days back for a lunch time class, Cactus Care and Cocktails.

“Ha! I took a beautiful DMV picture, thanks.” Darcy looks to Thor. “Straight?”

Thor nods as Jane fake coughs. “ _ Hack _ ! She hacked the DMV and replaced her picture.”

“Hey! You try seeing your hideous DMV picture up on eighteen different secret agency screens. Why do they always go for the DMV picture? The way I see it, the DMV refuses to get better lighting or use filters, and the secret agencies aren’t gonna stop looking me up, so I did what I had to.”

“No!” Jane smacks Bucky’s arm twice, great big thwacks. “Don’t you encourage her! I saw that smile! 

“Ha! Now I’ve got  _ both  _ Thor and Bucky to come after me if the feds take me.” Darcy laughs as Jane groans. “See, Buck, I figure once I’ve burned all my bridges on Earth, I’ll just go explore the realms.”

“What about Halloween and Christmas, huh, Darce? What if other realms don’t have pumpkin spice lattes and ugly cute gourds and hot cocoa and tacky light up reindeers?” Jane apparently gives up on Darcy, and instead appeals to Bucky, turning sideways in her seat to face him. “Bucky. I need you to be on my side, okay?”

Jane has treated him like this since the second she’d been introduced to him. Bucky doesn’t know if it’s because she has no sense of self preservation, her warrior training is that good, she trusts Thor to protect her, or if Darcy said something.

Bucky also turns in his seat to give her his full attention. Jane is digging through her canvas bag. It serves as her purse, but Bucky has learned that she’s much more likely to pull out some kind of scientific instrument or a bag of chips instead of lipstick. 

“Damn it.” She drops her purse to the floor with a huff. “Thor, have you-”

“On your head, my love.”

Jane freezes, then glares upward before pulling her sunglasses down onto her nose. “Anyway, you see these two? Thick as thieves about some things.”

“You know what would be fun, Thor?” Darcy asks brightly.

“Tell me and it shall be so,” Thor responds and Jane moans.

“You should tell Bucky the story of how you met Jane.” Darcy is grinning when she looks over her shoulder into the backseat. She’s wearing a pair of gold-rimmed heart-shaped sunglasses and meets his eyes over them before she returns her attention to the road. “It’s a real meet cute, believe me.”

“Will I never live that down?” Jane demands.

“It was a dark night on Midgard, with this planet’s stars blanketing the sky over the desert in the land called New Mexico. The stars were strange and unfamiliar to me, but I had hardly a chance to look upon them then. For I was on a collision course with fate,” Thor started, and after only a few scattered experiences in the other man’s company, Bucky can recognize his voice gone full epic history. 

Darcy’s grin widens. “I told him to add that part. They love it on Asgard.”

“They do,” Jane admits on a sigh.

“Upon Asgard I had come to a reckoning and had been found rightfully wanting. Though it gave me great pain at the time, I was banished to Midgard. Heavy with the knowledge that I had been found so lacking that my father stripped me of my title, my magic, and my immortality, I staggered to my feet.”

“Though I was blinded to my shortcomings at the time, I was not so blind as to not see the pair of bright lights swerving towards me in the lingering momentary chaos of the rainbow bridge.” Thor smiles now, his eyes finding Jane’s in the rearview mirror. “I knew not then that the strange conveyance I would later learn was called a research van was transporting my Jane, the one who would carry my heart for the rest of my days, whom my true self would be reflected to me in her eyes.”

Jane sits slumped in her seat, arms crossed over her middle. Her lips are twitching, no matter how she tries to fight it. 

“Despite my new mortal form, I was only knocked from my feet momentarily,” Thor continues. “The same cannot be said of my senses.”

“Damn right,” Darcy pipes up.

“Aye, I staggered to my feet again, stranded upon what I believed at that time to be a primitive world, forsaken by my father, with my mother’s sage advice lost to me. I called for Mjolnir, and then, in the settling red dust of the Midgardian desert, I came to the humbling, if untrue, realization that I had been stripped of everything that made me Thor, prince of Asgard.” Thor takes Jane’s much smaller hand in his. “In my confusion and pain, I did not properly greet my lady. Nay, I am afraid that Lady Jane’s first impression of me, and therefore, all of Asgard is a stumbling fool, bellowing for his hammer.”

“My Jane was entirely focused upon her studies, for her work had long predicted the existence of such forces as those the rainbow bridge created and left in its wake, despite the doubts of her fellows, such she had never before witnessed. Her loyal friend however, was not distracted.” Thor directs a beaming smile at Darcy. “The fates saw to it that I should meet my love and also my sister that day. Lady Darcy is stout of heart, fierce of spirit, and short of patience. So it was that I was felled by what once had been my own, lightning.”

“So you hit him with a van and Darce tased him?” Bucky clarifies.

“Yes. That sums it up nicely, time to move on.” Jane tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Who wants to pick out the music, huh? How about some-”

“Alas,” Thor continues, and seeing the beaming smile on Darcy’s face makes it so Bucky feels an answering grin spreading over his own, “I had not yet learned my lesson, and unwisely did not perceive that the fates were making my path known to me.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky tries to smother a chuckle as Jane drops her head back, staring up at the ceiling of the SUV. 

“So it was that I disembarked from the medical facility in which my mortal form had been treated, only to be struck a second time by my Love, in her research van.” Thor winks. “And so it is lucky for all Asgard that I decided to join paths with Lady Jane and Lady Darcy, for I fear what measures the fates would have taken had I not.”

“You hit him twice?” Bucky gives up on not laughing, and Jane is smiling as she shakes her head.

“What part of I need you on my side are you not getting, Barnes?” Jane demands a second before her eyes widen. “Parking!”

Bucky braces himself as Darcy yanks the steering wheel again. He handles the sharp turn almost as effortlessly as the others. It makes him wonder about their science excursions in unfamiliar cities and countries. Now they probably have to have some kind of security with them, but years back it would have just been these three and the open road.

They would have been a sight to see.

Darcy is grinning when she looks at him, as she guides the vehicle up the ramp in search of the parking spaces that had been declared available on the sign outside the garage. She’s flushed, from victory and adventure, and Bucky is glad he’d suggested the outing, and glad that Thor and Jane had come along despite his initial misgivings.

_ What about this situation are you identifying with?  _ Dr. Calderon would - will ask, if he tells her about it. Bucky looks out the window as they pass car after car in the shadowy garage. There shouldn’t be anything about a parking garage that he finds familiar in a good way. Cement, modern cars, iron gates. 

Bucky shifts in his seat, trying to will away the discomfort that had intruded. The doc says he’s got to find a way to acknowledge his mental health throughout the day, not just on bad days after he’s retreated from everyone. 

As Thor and Darcy bicker over how Darcy  _ sees  _ the parking spot and Thor can stop pointing over her shoulder, Bucky acknowledges what it might be. 

It could be the familiar make-up of their group. Two guys, two gals, out for a fun afternoon. Anytime he’d had some extra coin to jingle in his pocket, he’d been out with Steve and a couple dames.

It could be the semi-familiar skyline outside his window. Sure, a lot had changed. But his eyes can pick out buildings he’d seen before. Shapes that had been quickly sketched on whatever paper Steve could get his hands on. The old leather shoe factory, the bank, and the old machine parts assembly.  

It could be the easy friendship between Jane, Thor, and Darcy and how on some word of Darcy’s, he’d been invited into it like it was nothing. 

It’s all of those things at once, piled together making him face the newfound possibilities of the future. He climbs out of the car into the cool air of the parking garage and he actually feels a real connection to the man he’d been. He takes a deep breath, winces, then nods grimly. He grew up in the city, he’d walked past the butcher’s everyday where the flies would swarm out back, and he’d lived through plenty of long warm days when the sun’s rays bounced off the surrounding concrete and brick. Therefore, he deserves the lungful of urine-scented, garbage rotted air.

It is all of those things, and it’s Darcy. It’s Darcy because he’s actually interested in her. 

He’d been out with other women. A woman who’d been so fucking smart he’d never wanted her to stop talking and sitting across from her at the dinner table had been a treat in itself. He’d been out with a woman with the most beautiful freckles, and she’d let him trace them all over her body. 

But being with Darcy reminds him of the magic that women used to have for him. How fucking fascinating they all were. 

Christ, the way their skirts fluttered around their legs. Seamed stockings. The sound of heels on the sidewalk. 

And Darcy? He can’t help but notice all the little things that make her utterly captivating. The small mole on the back of her neck that’s only visible with certain necklines. It calls to him, that small mark, it’s the perfect place to lay his lips. 

Her skin is incredibly pale and soft. It’s hypnotizingly reactive: it flushes a warm pink with exertion, warmth, or excitement. Her finger tips turn red when she’s working in the kitchen, stirring something or crimping a pie crust. Her mouth - her mouth is unendingly alluring. 

He likes her disgruntled in the mornings, squinting in the light, clumsily making her way to the coffee. He likes her confident and at-ease in the kitchen, feet bare, music on, mouth going a mile a minute. 

He’s mesmerized by the way she moves, the hair that curls near the warmth of her neck, and her expressive eyes. 

When he comes around the back of the SUV, she’s waiting for him. Her shoulder bumps against his as she walks next to him, staring down at her phone in search of a nearby coffee shop. 

She wedges closer, devoting all of her attention to her screen and trusting him to steer her. Part of him takes a little bit of hope from that. A bigger part wonders if this isn’t how she is with all of her friends. 

He didn’t remember ever being this uncertain with dames. He can acknowledge that Darcy means more, he’s pretty damn certain about that, it’s kind of unavoidable. But he’s Bucky Barnes, he can woo a lady. 


	18. Chapter 18

Darcy can feel Jane and Thor watching her. Watching them.

She’d told Jane that Bucky was helping out around her house in exchange for food. She’d told Jane about Bucky, the worst neighbor ever. 

Darcy doesn’t need Jane to start seeing things that aren’t there. She hadn’t really thought this whole joint outing all the way through. Jane knows Darcy, somehow that all science all the time brain had taken a few breaks back in the day, because Jane had called Darcy out on that ill-advised fling with Ian straight-off. And Thor is all about feelings and considers it his duty as her brother to understand hers. 

So yes, she can feel their eyes tracking every touch she shares with Bucky. 

If she doesn’t understand it herself, how can she expect someone else to?

But when they’d first met up, she’d noticed the way Bucky’s stance had changed. He could have been worried about Thor. They’d never fought together, and she has no idea if they’ve gone beyond an initial team introduction that Thor had admitted was ‘intense’. 

His familiarity with Clint had made her think that he’d met the rest of the team and was comfortable with them. Stupid.

She’d caught his hand and squeezed. The metal plates could read pressure. She’d decided then and there that she’d deal with whatever assumptions her friends might make, but she wasn’t taking a chance on Bucky feeling unwelcome or uncomfortable.

They’ll just have to accept her three point explanation. One, home repair skills are a valuable commodity. Two, women and incredibly attractive men can be friends. Three, Darcy doesn’t want to think about this anymore and Jane and Thor can fuck off.

Darcy shoots a quelling look towards her friends. Jane looks vaguely apologetic, but also like she’s only dropping it for now. Thor smiles and when Darcy doesn’t react, gives her a thumbs up.

“Why does he look like that?” Bucky takes the pumpkin from her. She’s pretty sure her shift carrying it isn’t actually over yet, but she’s not gonna fight him on it. It’s a perfect pumpkin, pale green and big enough to look good next to her front door. It’s also a heavy fucker, something she hadn’t fully considered when she bought it. It’s been so long since she’s been able to dawdle around someplace that she’d forgotten what it was to make a cumbersome purchase early on and lug it around for the rest of the trip.

“That’s his face,” Darcy tells him, offering him some sugar roasted pecans from the paper cone she’d bought. “His stupid, always supportive face.” 

Bucky smirks at her, apparently amused by Darcy’s helicopter friends problems. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, asshole. When does Steve get back?”

“Rude.” Bucky bumps her with his hip, then leans his shoulder into her, turning her slightly and indicating with his head. “Did you want to check out that chandelier?” 

“Okay, chandelier booth is the last stop,” Darcy says loudly enough for Jane and Thor to hear, “and then I say we reconvene at my place for dinner.” 

“Ravioli dinner?” Jane proposes.

“Sold.” Darcy grabs Bucky’s free hand and starts to weave through the crowd. It’s only getting busier as people finish with their work day. 

It’s pretty easy to rule out the chandelier. Its wiring is frayed and Darcy is not willing to take the chance on being responsible for the Tower going down from literal friendly fire. 

They split up to gather ingredients. Bucky and Darcy let Jane and Thor take the car. Jane rarely leaves lab spaces, and Thor’s experience getting around Midgard mostly involves Mjolnir and Quinjets.  Subjecting a cab driver to their bumbled and distracted directions would be unkind, plus they’d probably take the longest route possible by honest mistake. 

They lose the light as they cross town again, daylight savings time suckage in full effect. Darcy leans back against the probably germ infested seat of their cab and closes her eyes. The better to enjoy this state of being. Her neck and shoulder muscles are loose, she feels an easy kind of bubbling excitement for Ravioli Night, and she’s just spent the day outside, breathing fresh air and mixing with the masses.  

An hour later, they’re back at her apartment, unpacking supplies.

“Am I staying for dinner?” Bucky asks, dumping an armful of pre-packaged pasta dough on the counter. 

“Oh, I just assumed you would.” Darcy glances up from her tablet, where she’s searching through her dismally organized recipe collection.

“I didn’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be.” Darcy looks back to her tablet.

“Now what?” he asks, coming to a stop behind her so he can read over her shoulder.

“I haven’t found the recipe yet,” Darcy grumbles. She starts swiping faster, because she’s pretty sure the ravioli recipe was added to this file around the same time as that Jack Daniels banana bread one. “Here, but we both need to go change. Ravioli Night uniform is your comfiest stretchy pants and absolutely no shoes.”

“You have a serious problem with shoes, doll.” 

“Anyone with half a brain does, now go! Jane and Thor will be here any minute.” 

She’s not surprised he beats her back. He has far fewer cute fuzzy socks to choose from. He’s holding her iPod, scrolling through her music.

“Any requests?” he asks, not looking up. 

“Something jazzy. Thor says they’ve got stuff that sounds like the horns back home, so he likes it. Wine?” Darcy offers, going to the drawer that contains her corkscrew.

“Darcy! We’re here!” Jane calls from the living room. “We brought you a surpri-iiii-se.” 

Darcy crosses both fingers, hoping it’s cannoli. Ella Fitzgerald’s unmistakable voice begins to play from the speakers as Thor comes around the corner. He’s carrying a pair of white pastry boxes with familiar green labels and wearing a pair of black sweatpants. 

“Darcy!” Jane yells. “You said  _ some  _ work. Bucky, did you do all of this?”

Darcy pads into the living room just as Jane is disappearing down the hall. 

“Holy shit, did you build these shelves?” Jane shouts, and reappears. “I bought these metal shelves from Ikea, can you put them up for me?” 

“Jane, you know that I have registered for new training exercises at The Home Depot.” Thor smiles at Darcy and offers his hand to Bucky. “Soon I shall claim the bounty of my sister’s cooking for myself. I will hang shelves and dangle fans from the ceiling and perhaps even apply the sink from Alien Bob’s.” 

Bucky nods as he shakes Thor’s hand. Darcy wonders if he realizes it’s Thor way of formally acknowledging his intent to usurp him. “Okay. Alien Bob’s?”

“Give me Bucky’s number,” Jane whispers, pinching Darcy’s arm before turning to offer Bucky an explanation. “Thrift store. New Mexico. So, no wine?”

It was the best thing Jane could have said. Bucky’s old school manners kick in, and he turns towards the wine fridge Tony had installed about nine provoked lab accidents ago in apology. Darcy’s entire collection of fancy kitchen appliances is thanks to Tony’s bribery-not-apologies system. 

It moves them past the greeting part of the night, which Darcy could admit was really underlining the whole double-date feel they’d had going on all day. 

Jane turns Miles Davis up louder and they get started on the work-intensive recipe. Elbows brushing, they gather around the table to make the ravioli, spooning filling onto to dough and brushing the edges with egg. 

The red wine has her cheeks warm, Bucky’s laughing at one of Thor’s stories of quests gone wrong, and Jane is mouthing the parts she’s heard too many times. 

They’re trying to find a movie to watch with dinner when Bucky slips away to the kitchen. Darcy notices, but gives him a few minutes before leaving Jane explaining _ Tremors _ to Thor. She takes her wine glass with her, a handy excuse for journeying to the kitchen.

He’s got another glass of wine poured but is leaning with his palms against the counter and his head down. Darcy knows he knows she’s there, she’s pretty sure that it’s impossible to sneak up on him. It’s just the reality of his experiences. 

She doesn’t know if she should leave him or say something, or if she does say something, what that something should be.  _ Can  _ she even help?

“Okay?” she ends up asking. Like a genius. 

“Fine.” He exhales and straightens. “More wine?”

Darcy steps closer and hands over her glass. She doesn’t touch him, that much she knows. But he leans closer, so his arm is brushing against hers. She takes that as an invitation and ducks under the arm that’s pouring wine.

When he sets the bottle aside, she plucks it up and holds it so the light shines through, revealing the small amount left. She takes a few swigs from the bottle before offering it to him. 

He finishes it off and sets the empty bottle aside, turning so that he’s facing her, her arm now curled around his lower back instead of his side. 

Darcy raises her chin to give him an easy smile. To say  _ we’ve got this, it’s just another night in, it’s all gonna be good _ . But it gets hung up somewhere, and she suddenly feels caught as his dark blue eyes flick between hers. 

Searching for something, and suddenly she doesn’t think it’s reassurance about dinner with her friends. 

The aftertaste of the wine is heavy in her mouth and her mind scrambles, plucking at various attempts at control, a steady train of thought, some semblance of reason. 

She’s drunk, but not in the kind of way that has anything to do with the merlot. Like they’re caught in a magnetic pull, she’s drawn closer to him. Her hands itch to touch him, to slide up his chest so she can brace herself against him. The second she becomes aware of the prick of her teeth dragging over her bottom lip, she stops. His eyes have already tracked the movement. They’re stuck there.

But uncertainty laces the anticipation burning in her veins, and as much as she strains towards him, something in her also balks. 

“Guys, how about  _ Apollo 13 _ ?” Jane yells.

Bucky visibly jerks in surprise, and Darcy steps back, heart thundering her chest. “Sounds good!”

“Are we ready? Is that bottle empty?” Jane plunges into the room, oblivious to the weird tension.

Except not, because once she’s behind Bucky she shoots Darcy a long look. Darcy ignores it, mind racing. 

She avoids looking at Jane, despite being able to feel the other woman’s eyes on her, and gets the bowls down for everyone to dish up. Bucky opens the other bottle of wine, taking it around to top off everyone’s glass. Darcy squashes down the part of her that notes he’s a great co-host. 

Soon they’re all settled in the living room, with over-large bowls and the Universal Studios intro is playing. Darcy’s nerves slowly fade.

Will she have some thinking to do later? Yeah. Yep, it definitely looks like that’s the case. She’s not gonna be able to ignore her attraction to Bucky anymore, it’s time to face up to it. But it’s not something she has to deal with now.

Crazy almost kiss or not, it becomes Ravioli Night. Familiar and easy and home. Thor and Jane fighting over the blanket they’re sharing, the light of the TV flickering over the room, and the unsophisticated deliciousness of Jane’s family recipe. Ravioli Night had started in New Mexico, and carried them through four countries, three alien invasions, the loss of one grandma, Thor’s long absence, and everything else life had thrown at them. 

If that didn’t soothe the last of the jumping nerves from the middle of her chest, slowly tipping into Bucky’s side, and his arm curling around her, enveloping her in his warmth, did.


	19. Chapter 19

Darcy dumps her empty tea mug in the sink, feeling betrayed by both chamomile and her new soothing sounds album. 

She plucks up her iPod and with emphatic movements changes the music. She’s done trying to sleep. It’s a lost cause. 

She’s done the tea, she sat out on the patio with a blanket, she painted her fingernails with the cherry chocolate scented nail polish her dad had sent her, she did her mindfulness exercises. Now she’s just frustrated and tired.

She drops her head back when the punchy horns and peppy percussion of her favorite fifties jukebox hits collection starts. The opposite of sleep music. In time to the beat, she bops her head back and forth. With these physical motions, moving her shoulders in a shimmy that loosens the muscles, and flicking her hands outwards as if shaking off a clingy bad aura, she chases away the last of the tension lingering in her body and groggy irritation leftover from flipping over endlessly on too warm sheets.

Food. She needs food.

Specifically, pizza.

Yes. She’ll text Jane that she’ll be in late, and then put herself into a cheese coma.

Just as she’s pressing the send button, her phone buzzes with a message from Bucky.

**Bucky: 3:47 AM**

_ Can’t sleep either? _

There is a fast swoop in her stomach, and the off-kilter spin of excitement and anticipation. She’d experienced it the first time during a fifth grade field trip, on a crowded bus when she’d had an assigned seat next to a boy with a bag of Welch’s fruit snacks. She’s changed a lot since that first, fleeting crush, more a flash flare introduction to the world of butterflies filling her stomach, fizzing anticipation, the endorphin rush of new love, and the unique pain of heartbreak. 

Maybe she’d imagined the almost kiss in the kitchen? Bucky hadn’t acted any differently towards her since. Worse, what if it had been one sided? What if he was just being kind not saying anything about her distraction?

Darcy stomps down on the shame embarrassment that wants to take her over. No. She’s not going to laser focus on something and assume the worst because it just means that she gets all weird and suffers for nothing. 

Bucky is attractive. He knows he’s attractive. If it was one-sided, he’ll either deal or he’ll have to say something if he’s uncomfortable. Otherwise, they’re friends. Good friends, actually. And Darcy doesn’t want to lose him.

There. That’s the adult thing to do. Practicality, all the way.

**Darcy: 3:51 AM**

_ Nope. Want some pizza? _

Waiting for his response, she taps her foot against the kitchen floor. He said he was going to put in new tile for her. She has these awesome hexagon tiles picked out, to mimic the floor she’d seen in a cafe in London. That right there is another reason she can’t let her completely understandable lust for him ruin things. 

She brings her phone back up to prompt a quicker response, but then she hears the front door open.

“Darce?”

“In the kitchen,” she calls back, and takes a second to give a firm talking to the butterflies that had just struck up the band again.

Which was made pointless the second he stepped into view. She has a definite thing for guys all rumpled and cozy. And here he is, hair pulled back in a bun, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, with bare feet.

She really wants to take a picture of him and send it to Jane as some kind of evidence for self defense in a future communal trial. 

“Morning, sunshine,” he smiles wryly. “Everything okay?”

“Brain won’t shut up. You?” 

“That’s a good way to put it. We makin’ pizza or orderin’ in?”

“Ordering in. I want questionable amounts of cheese. I want to flip off the regrets I should have in the morning.” Darcy opens her take-out menu drawer sorting through some of the best reasons to live in New York in paper form, with dog-eared corners and two-tone graphics. 

Darcy can’t help monitoring and interpreting his every move while she places their order and notifies the security desk downstairs. 

He seems at ease as he opens two beers for them, at home in her kitchen and locating her shark bottle opener with familiarity. Definitely not like he’s thinking about their almost kiss.

Which is a good thing. It is. That means she didn’t weird him out. He may not be dreaming of ravishing her on the dining room table, but he’s also not trying to think of a nice way to tell her she’s perving on him and it’s gross. 

Arranging blankets and pillows on the couch, she notices the humming tension in his muscles and the hard line of his jaw. When he looks at her, he makes an effort. One that would be easy to believe. 

But she knows he has terrible nightmares. Not that he liked to talk about it, or had come right out and told her even. They’re both just shitty sleepers, and she’d run into him more than once headed down to the gym, his shirts already sporting rings of sweat, his eyes dark and haunted. Following those run-ins, he’s unavailable for coffee the next day or their plans to check out a different street market are canceled in favor of an appointment with his therapist and a day to himself.

“Do you,” Darcy starts, haltingly, “do you want to talk about it?”

Bucky drops his head down. His hair pulled back in the knobby bun leaves his neck in clear view, she can see the bump of the top of his spine. 

So that was the wrong move. He’s probably got plenty of people asking him to talk about things he doesn’t want to think about. 

“Not much to talk about, doll.” She can see his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath breath before he brings his head back up.

“That’s okay. I shouldn’t have asked.” Darcy turns her attention to their movie options so he doesn’t catch her studying him. “The Insomniac Club is a no judgement place. It’s also a 90s rom-com place, which you’re going to love.”

“Why shouldn’t you have asked?” Bucky asks, his hand catching hers on the remote. She suddenly becomes aware of how close they’re sitting, the way her knees just barely edge over one of his thighs, the warmth of his shoulder against hers. 

She shrugs, “You’ve got Steve, and Clint, and Dr. Calderon, all of whom are a lot better equipped to help. I’m just-”

“The best part of my day,” Bucky interrupts, which is good because she didn’t have any idea where she was going with that. “The Doc is thinkin’ about putting me back in the field. In certain situations, she says.”

“Wow, but you don’t have to tell me that, seriously, we can just veg.”

“Darce, I like telling you things. I just don’t want to ask too much. Drag you down.” 

He couldn’t do that. Darcy opens her mouth, to tell him that he does the opposite. That she wants to help him, do the same for him that he does for her. The words trip over themselves in her mind to get out, spill over him. 

They’re too much though. Finally, she manages, “You don’t. You couldn’t.”

His eyes snag hers and his head tilts to the side. The intensity burning there makes her momentarily wonder if she hadn’t stopped the spill of words. Her heart thuds, hard. 

That same hesitance from the almost kiss flares. Heartbreak waiting to happen, she’d thought before she even knew him. She hadn’t had a clue.

“Uh,” Darcy pulls her hand from his, and shifts so she’s not leaning into him, “so back in the field. That’s big. Are you happy? That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Yeah.” He sighs, then rubs a hand over his jaw. “I’ve been fighting next to Steve as far back as I can remember. Besides, no matter what the Doc says, a part of me needs to get back in the fight I started, doing what I set out to do.”

“Do you have any idea when?”

“Nah. And it won’t be anything Steve’s involved with. It’ll be limited duty. Restricted.” Bucky shrugs, “I figure after I do well enough at that for a while, she’ll try me working with Steve again.”

“So you’re nervous?” Darcy winces at the inadequacy of the word. 

“I’m a lot of things. Don’t wanna screw up with someone on the team counting on me. Don’t want to have the Doc pull the plug again. Don’t wanna get out there and feel my mind trying to check out.” Bucky shakes his head, “I don’t know. I’m finally feelin’ like a real person again. Like me. Don’t wanna fuck up.”

“Would it help if I made chicken and dumplings for you to come home to?” She offers, feeling silly. But he loved chicken and dumplings. It reminds him of a dish his grandmother used to make. 

“Yes.” He waits until she meets his eyes and smiles.

“Anything to get chicken and dumplings,” she rolls her eyes, elbowing him. 

“You know it,” he agrees. His eyes flick over her face, like he’s going to say something more, and Darcy stills, waiting. Then he gives himself a shake and nods his head towards the TV. “What have you got for me? Why am I gonna love 90s rom-coms?”

She doesn’t know which is stronger, her relief or her regret that the moment passed. She’s a mess.

It’s four o'clock in the morning. She’s allowed to be a mess. Sweet Frigga, she’s got to stop beating herself over the head. 

“Okay, so rom-coms, romantic comedies. 90s, a time of great cheese. And  _ Hope Floats  _ was a crowning achievement in both. Plus it has Harry Connick Jr.” Darcy wiggles to sink further into the couch. “It’s right up your alley.”

“It should be right up everyone’s alley,” Bucky says, holding up the edge of his blanket in offering. Darcy drapes her legs over his and he settles the blanket over both of them. “Romance is the best part of life. I love romance. And it should be fun, the best kind is. And cheese? What you call cheese these days? It’s just people being honest. It’s your male leads going all in, and making their ladies feel special.”

“Oh my god, it’s real life discourse.”

“Deflect all you want, sweetheart. You wanna call me cheesy, fine. I know what I’m about.” Bucky folds his arms, looking satisfied.

“You  _ are  _ a giant cheeseball,” Darcy tells him, pressing play.

“Guess you better get used to it then.” 

The pizza arrives, delivered by Gerhardt in a cloud of aftershave. She grabs more beer and a roll of paper towels, rejoining him on the couch.

She’s finally starting to feel sleepy, overfull and slumped against Bucky’s side, when Bucky snorts with laughter, startling her.

“Now  _ that  _ was a line,” he motions to the screen with his free arm.

“Mmm?” Darcy asks, refocusing on the screen. She immediately recognizes the scene.

“Dancin’ is just a conversation between two people, talk to me?” Bucky repeats for her, through his smile.

“You love it,” Darcy tells him, snuggling back down.


	20. Chapter 20

Bucky’s knees are fucking killing him, even with the knee pads he’d bought after reading several tiling how-tos. He’s pretty sure Clint’s right there with him, but they’ve slowly made their way from the back corner of the kitchen all the way through the dining room. 

He’d naively thought floor would better than doing the the mermaid tiles on the wall in the bathroom. Never again. It’s just the sheer expanse of space, and mixing bucket after bucket of grout. It’s tempting to mix in bigger batches, but everything he’d read said that the grout slowly drying in the bucket might change the look of the finish and would also make it harder to work with.

So he’s measured and mixed, lugging the bucket into the bathroom over pathways of plastic tarping. 

Clint’s inventive cursing is amusing, at least. Plus, he’d really come in handy once they’d tiled about eight feet past the fridge and remembered their lunches were in there. Rookie mistake, Clint had declared as he flipped himself from one cabinet to the next, an acrobat in ratty cargo shorts.

“A couple little projects,” Clint mutters, pulling the grout bucket back, the plastic bottom scraping loudly. “Don’t think I don’t know you played me.”

“Don’t think you can make me feel guilty. You came back, didn’t you?” Bucky walks backwards on his knees and double checks the distance to the threshold. “I didn’t go banging on your door, you showed up here. Which means you’re getting something out of this. If anything, you should be thanking me.”

“Fuck you,” Clint grunts. 

“Ya know where the door is, pal.” 

The trowel scrapes over Bucky’s hand, leaving it caked in grout. “Oops. Sorry about that,  _ pal _ .”

“Sergeant Barnes,” FRIDAY intones as both of their phones emit the low-tone beep that signals a security issue, “your presence is requested in the Space Lab.”

“What is the lab status, FRIDAY?” Clint’s voice is terse as he makes for his phone. 

Bucky feels everything slow down. His mind quiets in a way it hadn’t before the army put a sniper rifle in his hands. Grout mix and water ratios, his aching knees, the two missed calls from Steve on his phone, and tomorrow’s early appointment with Dr. Calderon all become muted facts. 

Bucky stands, his mind already cataloging his weapons - the few he’s got on him, the others that he could most quickly retrieve. The lab is on a secured floor with one main entrance, but it has two possible other entrances, the emergency exit/safe room and the connecting door to Dr. Banner’s lab. 

“The lab has been secured,” FRIDAY answers.

“Why?” Clint demands, obviously as frustrated as Bucky is with the AI’s lack of detail.

“A threat was received.”

“Okay, but the lab is secure. That means-”

“I know what it means,” Bucky growls, peeling off the knee pads. He grabs a towel on his way to the door, wiping the grout off his hand the best he can. He passes the dining room table temporarily pulled into the living room, disregarding plans to access the lab through the alternate access points. 

His phone is on the green side table next to the door. He’s got a ping for a minor security event, and a text copy of FRIDAY’s message. FRIDAY’s text copies are frequently more useful than the actual message relayed because they contain the exact commands used. 

Bucky sees that Darcy submitted a request for FRIDAY to tell ‘Bucky to get his ass down here before I tase someone’ at 2:23 PM. 

Bucky ignores the uneasy glances he draws on the elevator. He and Clint have one side of the elevator to themselves with the other four occupants crowded to the opposite side. It hadn’t taken him long to realize it didn’t bother him in the least. Who wouldn’t appreciate a little extra elbow room? And Gerhardt wears too damn much aftershave.

The other occupants, three agents from Stark security [Michael Gerhardt, Ursula Jenkins, Arvind Mahajan]  and two people from the cleaning crew [Kyle Wilkins, Harold Brosch], get off on the same floor. The hallway has two more Stark security teams waiting, along with Vision and Maximoff. 

“Hello, Sergeant Barnes.” Maximoff looks only mildly surprised to see him. She doesn’t take her eyes from the glass walls for long. “Beckett is… struggling to control the situation.”

Bucky doesn’t doubt that. Over the past two weeks, it had become obvious that Head of Tower Security John Beckett and Darcy did not get along. Something about an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. Bucky’s money is on the curvy unstoppable force. 

When the doors slide open, he can hear Beckett talking loudly. Not loudly enough to put off the two women attempting to bodily block him from going any further into the lab, and talking over him.

“Bucky!” Darcy calls with obvious relief when she sees him. “Tell Beckett to back off.” 

“Sergeant Barnes, this situation is under control-” Beckett cuts off, wincing and taking a swift step back when Jane stomps on his instep. “Dr. Foster, that could be considered assault.” 

“I told you to stop touching things.” Jane crosses her arms, looking ready to kick him again. Knowing what he does about Jane’s extensive combat training, Bucky scans the surrounding area for weapons and possible impromptu weapons. 

“Mr. Beckett, I think you have what you need,” Maximoff calls over from the doorway. The door is only open part of the way, FRIDAY not allowing the woman access into the lab. 

“ _ More  _ than he needs,” Darcy says firmly, one arm clamped around the laptop she’s clutching to her stomach. 

“I might have to come back. Or someone from my team. And I expect you to cooperate, as per the contract you signed when you accepted your position here,” Beckett says, attempting to include Bucky in his steely glare. 

It’s amusing at best. He should probably care, but he doesn’t - he’d take the other man down in a second if he so much as made Darcy uncomfortable.

“We’ll see,” Darcy replies, stepping in front of Jane, who almost looks ready to lunge. “Terrible seeing you again, please fall down the elevator shaft.” 

“You know what?” Beckett bites out, his tension evident. The man is a genius with policy, hiring, and keeping up with Stark’s advanced tech. He’s not so good with people. 

“That’s enough, Beckett.” Bucky steps forward as Darcy’s eyes go wide with anger. He catches Darcy’s hand, which had been twitching towards her taser. 

“What? I felt threatened.” Darcy eyes the other man. “It’s only set to stun, anyway.”

“I think it’s time for you leave, Mr. Beckett,” Jane advises.

Bucky watches Beckett stalk through the lab and FRIDAY slides the door open to grant him access to the hallway before slamming it shut again.

Bucky starts to turn back, but hears someone knocking on the glass. Clint motions to the door. “Hey, Darce. Can Clint come in?”

“Will you shoot him if he touches anything?”

“Sure thing, doll,” Bucky promises, and FRIDAY opens the door. Clint is always getting shot, and there are several places that will disable him but heal up quick. 

“I can come in?” Clint sticks his head in and looks both ways. “Did they say it was okay?”

“Get in here, Hawkguy,” Darcy yells, “Before we kick you off the entire floor.”

Clint eases up beside Bucky and leans close, talking lowly out of the corner of his mouth. “Easy man, they’re vicious as fuck when it comes to their science. Don’t touch anything.”

“Oh, sure, it’s not like you’ve ever given us a reason to distrust you,” Jane accuses. “I  _ still  _ don’t have all of my work back from  _ six years ago _ .” 

“I regret coming here,” Clint whispers, moving one shoulder behind Bucky. “But I couldn’t leave you in here by yourself. I hope you appreciate my sacrifice.”

“I can hear you,” Jane hisses, turning on her heel. 

“Ears of a bat, man,” Clint breathes.

“I heard that, too!” 

“Everything is fine,” Darcy says, and the last of the uneasy jumpiness that had Bucky scanning for vulnerabilities settles a little. 

“It got slipped into Dr. Foster’s paperwork somehow. Kind of a “join or die” thing. They’ve gotten quite a few from A.I.M.” Clint starts to ease himself onto a desk, then seems to think better of it. “From what I understand, we’ve got twenty-three minutes of time total that the paperwork was out of this lab, but we can’t see a damn thing on surveillance.” 

“This is fucking unbelievable, you know?” Darcy skirts around the desk, walking towards them. She’s chewed the lipstick off her bottom lip, and anger still flashes in her eyes. “Just this morning I couldn’t buy a fucking plant because they couldn’t verify all of the shipping outlets, and now everything is going to get even tighter.” 

Clint offers her an orange bag of candies. Bucky scowls at him. He stopped for snacks?

“And Beckett is going to be awful now that I almost tased him again,” Darcy snatches the candy from Clint, but doesn’t stop walking. Bucky opens his arms just in time, and Darcy drops her head against his chest. The candy bag crinkles between them loudly for a second. “And now I can’t open this stupid bag of candy.”

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” Bucky rips the corner off the packet one-handed, keeping the other arm around her. 

“It’s just bullshit. This guy last week helped me pick up some papers I dropped when we ran into each other, and then I find a resume in the middle. So did he knock me down on purpose? It’s like, even if their angle isn’t to kill us, they’ve all still got angles.”

Bucky wants to ask if she told Beckett about that, but he can also see how frustrated she is, the deep worry line between her eyes and the way her body is practically vibrating with tension. If he just continues Beckett’s interrogation, none of that is going to improve.  Clint tips his head back in acknowledgment and pulls his phone from his pocket. 

Jane collapses into a rolling chair, sending a bitter glare around the lab and savagely chewing at her thumb nail. When her eyes move over Darcy, her expression darkens further.

“Arghhhhhh,” Darcy groans, then wiggles in his grip. Shaking it off. He’s seen her do it before. She’ll pull back soon, all smiles and stubborn bravado. Her voice is muffled as she presses her face against his shoulder for a second, “Okay, okay. I’m fine. Sorry.” 

“Nothin’ to apologize for,” Bucky tells her as she steps back. He catches her hand, and her fingers slip between his. “Did you want me to look into this for you, or just to send Beckett packin’?”

“If you make all of this stop so that we never have to see Beckett again, you will be my hero, James Buchanan Barnes.” 

“Seconded,” Jane grouses.

“Did you turn off the magnetizers?” Darcy tilts her head, listening for something. Bucky can hear a low hum, and Darcy gently tugs her hand away to cross to several vertical nests of wires. She reaches into them with confidence, plucking this cord and that one.

“What the fuck, Barnes? How did you get on their good side?” Clint hisses lowly, shifting slightly so Bucky is between him and Jane. 

It’s true. Bucky is able to move around the lab. Darcy hands him boxes, Jane shows him pictures of the resume and the calling card Beckett had taken for the official investigation. Clint gets sour looks and heated glares anytime he gets too close to a desk, and pretty much just reads over Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky is…really, really glad he’s being let in. He sees the measuring looks Jane keeps shooting his way and he knows that despite Darcy’s distance now, her closeness earlier had been significant. 

Darcy’s got a lot of walls, that much had become obvious. Bucky had managed to slip in between a few of them, and now he really hopes he can get past a few more. He likes her smile and he can’t help but laugh when she does. He can’t get enough of her, her warmth and liveliness. 

He craves her, and he relishes every look she cuts his way on the elevator, every text message she sends, every time the swirling push and pull around her settles and she’s soft and warm and kind.

He lets Clint read over his shoulder, has FRIDAY copy him on everything Beckett has, and he mentally tries to remember what’s in their combined fridges that he actually knows how to cook for dinner. 

He’s trying to think of a way to pull her away from the lab when two machines high up on the wall begin to beep and flash, their numbers shooting up thousands.

And he’s not getting her out of the lab anytime soon. He recognizes the look on her face from the few times he’d come to retrieve her from the lab only to be put off for ‘one more hour’. “Did you guys have lunch?”

“What?” Darcy asks distractedly, her eyes on the nearest screen. She shakes her head. “I mean, yeah. We had bananas.”

“Bananas,” Clint repeats.

“I’ll bring something down, alright?” Bucky ignores her mumbled ‘you don’t have to do that’.

He makes two grilled cheese sandwiches and grabs some grapes from his apartment, which will have to be good enough since her infinitely better stocked fridge is now unreachable. 

Then he rejoins Clint, finishing the last of the tile before spending the rest of the night going over security feeds with him. He can’t get rid of the off-kilter feeling deep in his chest that has had him feeling cold and disconnected since FRIDAY reported a problem in Darcy’s lab, and he thinks Clint can tell.

“I’m here if you need to talk,” Clint offers when he leaves for the night. “Wake me up, it’s fine.”

“I know,” Bucky says, because Clint is an asshole who tries to steal the last of Bucky’s fries at the diner and sells Bucky out to Natasha and Tony and apparently Darcy and had spoiled the ending of Star Wars, but he’s a good friend for a previously brainwashed assassin to have. 


	21. Chapter 21

The musty smell of the furniture shop is one he’s grown used to. This one is a lot cleaner than the other two they’d visited today, and underpinning the musty scent of mothballs is the one of furniture polish. 

The shopkeep is one of those overly talkative types. Earlier Darcy had fled, saying she’d wanted to be in public but only enough to see other people, not  _ talk  _ to them. But now she’s stuck at the cash register, arranging for the replacement coffee table they’d finally found.

Bucky had answered Steve’s call, partly to get away from the chatty shopkeep, and partly because Steve had called yesterday while Bucky had been in the middle of refinishing a pair of stained glass inlaid doors Darcy had picked up while she’d been out to lunch with Thor last week and had forgotten to call him back.

Bucky frowns at a Polish sideboard covered in floral folk art. He’s positive he’s seen it before. Admittedly all of these stores have started to run together, but…

He twists, scanning the wall of cast iron pots, the two arm chairs centered on an orange and green rug, and finally spies a three foot tall tiki man. He would have remembered the tiki man. They haven’t already been to this store.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice is exasperated.

“I’m listening,” Bucky promises. “Nat got you into the benefit, and you met your mark.”

Darcy is turning down a butterscotch candy, for the third time, while still scanning her phone. Bucky wonders if Stark Security is giving her a hard time. She’d told him that when it came to the security teams, anyone who wasn’t an Avenger or high-level admin had to stand their ground or get mowed over.

Bucky turns away, ready to dig back into the conversation with Steve and fully get his mind off of grout colors. Beige? Earth? Onyx? Does it even really matter? 

The tickle works it’s way down the nape of his neck. He’d felt it during a training exercise at Camp McCoy, which singled him out for promotion. It had saved him from a fellow sniper in 1942, when the 107th was pushing Nazi forces north out of Italy. Later as a Howling Commando it meant he’d swept an already cleared area a second time, finding an enemy soldier with his gun trained on Steve.

Bucky stills, Steve’s voice becoming a wash of unimportant background noise. 

He shifts, so he can move towards Darcy if needed. The door opens, and the absence of the jingling bell that had signaled their own arrival is enough to have Bucky going on full alert. 

[Woman, early 30s, oversized scarf making it impossible to assess possibility of weapons. Bland smile of greeting, but her eyes are hard behind thick frame glasses.] [Three other ‘customers’ in the store, a couple in their 40s, athletic builds, tote bag appearing to contain a bottle of wine and a loaf of french bread. A woman, 20s, dress covered in black cats, red knit hat. Scar on the back of her ankle, exposed by a low sock, possibly caused by a bullet.] [The shopkeeper’s dogged attentiveness, insistence on Darcy’s eating a candy.]

Bucky’s phone vibrates silently in his hand. Four short buzzes. A warning.

He hangs up on Steve and looks down at the screen. A situation has been identified close to his location. He should return to the tower.

“You know what? A butterscotch does sound good, actually.” Darcy says, and there is something about her voice.

[She steps two feet to the right. Unnecessary movement. She has lost the minimal protection the cash register provided when it was between her and the ‘shopkeep’.]

[The couple has stopped in the doorway, next to the tiki man. Darcy’s left foot shifts. The brown glass bulb light hangs just above her head. Its chain and cord leads to a flimsy hook in the ceiling, then to the wall nearest the couple.]

Bucky has only a second to move out of the way, turning on the cat dress girl as Darcy swats the candy dish so the candies fly into the shopkeeper’s face. The man’s eyes squeeze shut, and Darcy yanks on the light fixture.

It takes Bucky two moves to have Cat Dress on the ground. Her attempt at a kick to the back of his knees had been far too late. Behind him, the shelving unit the cord of the light fixture had been tucked behind falls with a crash.

Bucky turns back in time to throw a knife at the woman, who had mostly dodged the falling shelf, unlike her male companion. Darcy is standing on top of the cash register counter, and the ‘shopkeep’ is slumped over it, utterly still. 

Bucky has his gun on the woman who has her hands wrapped around the knife sticking out of her stomach.

“Barnes! This is Agent Bentley. I’ve got a three person team with me. Ulger is with me, we’re coming in now. Acklesby is stationed at the back door.”

[Agent Jasmine Bentley. Seven year SHIELD veteran. Two year liaison between SHIELD and Stark Security. George Ulger, eight years armed forces, eight years Stark Security. Ashley Acklesby, 2008 Olympic Bronze medal in Judo, two years Stark Security.] 

Darcy is looking at him now. Waiting for something.

“They’re good,” Bucky confirms, and she seems to droop, muscles drawn taught, a body on alert, easing and loosening so her shoulders slump and she closes her eyes.

“Is this all of them?” Bently asks.

“Yes.” Bucky’s boots crunch over broken glass as he passes the cast iron pots and a stack of steamer trunks. 

Darcy’s eyes open and she looks down at him. “They  _ are not  _ ruining our new coffee table. We spent weeks looking for this thing.”

“Damn straight.” Bucky holsters his gun as Bentley and Ulger secure the attackers. He raises his arms to her, and she steps into them so he can lift her down from the counter. He can smell the strange electric scent that accompanies the discharge of one of the tasers Stark had modified for her. That explains what happened to the ‘shopkeep’. 

Bucky scans Darcy for any signs of injury as he lowers her back to the floor. 

“You okay, sunshine?” he asks, unable to stop himself from leaning closer and pressing his face into her hair. 

“How do you feel about making lasagna with me tonight? I feel like we earned lasagna.” Darcy says into his neck, her hands making fists in his shirt. 

“Sounds like a hell of a plan.”

“A hell of a plan it is,” Darcy says, her tone becoming brighter. She wiggles in his arms and Bucky reluctantly drops them. 

He’s surprised to feel the barest brush of a kiss against his collarbone before she steps back.

“These the suspicious candies, Lewis?” Bentley asks, examining one of the cellophane wrapped candies littering the checkout counter and surrounding floor. 

Darcy had contacted the security team. Of course she had. Their quick response time, the alert FRIDAY had sent. 

They make their initial reports to the responding team. One of the attackers is identified as an active AIM agent. A second Stark Security team shows up with an extra car and an escort back to the Tower. 

And they make arrangements for the coffee table to be dropped off that night.


	22. Chapter 22

“Sergeant Barnes?” FRIDAY’s voice is a moderated tone, softer than her normal programmed volume and pitch.

Bucky blinks, sitting up straighter. His neck feels stiff from being in the same odd position too long. “What?”

“This is your notification that you have been immobile and unengaged for thirty minutes. Would you like for me to contact someone for you or assist you in any way?” FRIDAY asks.

“No.” Bucky rubs his hand over his face, stubble sharp against his palm. He knows FRIDAY won’t let it go. The AI was programmed to help the various residents of the Tower suffering from PTSD, depression and a host of other mental and emotional illnesses. Certain protocols had been engaged for Bucky, protocols that he’d had to agree to if he wanted to be able to live alone.

He recognizes that as a good thing, when he hasn’t spent the last few hours on the couch wishing for sleep after abandoning his damp and sweaty bed. 

“Sergeant Barnes, it is often beneficial to take a deep breath and seek a change in your current situation,” FRIDAY says after a few minutes of silence. “Would you like me to begin grounding techniques?”

Bucky sucks in a deep breath and blinks several times. He’s been staring at the wall, apparently for thirty minutes. He’s tired, he’s frustrated, and he’s worried. He needs to move. 

“I’m good.” Bucky pushes himself up, taking another breath. He feels his shoulders rise and fall. “Just too damn tired.”

“Very well, Sergeant Barnes.” 

He listens, stilling his breathing for a second. His apartment is silent around him. More, Darcy’s apartment is quiet as well - no screams from her much-loved horror movies, no strains of music, no mixer buzzing for the late night milkshakes she swears help her fall asleep. 

“FRIDAY, did Darcy come up yet?” Bucky stretches his arms out, and the plates in his left arm shift. Stark had said that was a sign of just how wired into his central nervous system the arm tech was, the different responses the arm has to bodily sensations like stretching, yawning, pain, and cold.

“Doctors Foster and Lewis are still working.” 

Bucky nods, new destination decided. 

He’s spent many a night walking empty, quiet hallways. Even though the walls are supposed to be soundproof, and the spaces are overly large for the number of people in them, it still sounds quieter at night somehow. 

The elevator carries him smoothly down twenty-four floors, then the doors open into an empty hall. Bucky eyes the the thick glass separating the lab from the hall. Very few people have access to the lab floors, and even fewer have permission to enter the Space Lab. The glass walls are missile proof. The emergency exit/safe room and the entrance to Dr. Banner’s lab are both Hulk-proof. 

He stops at the door and waits. Darcy’s head pops up from one of the bigger machines in the room and her eyes find him through the glass. Her pony tail is mussed, with at least some of her hair having escaped and hanging around her face.  

She says something and the doors open. Three steps into the room he sees Jane lying on the floor, holding blueprints over her face. She looks at him blearily, “What time is it?”

“After two,” Bucky answers, and she groans and folds the blueprints against her chest. 

“Darcy! I’m going to bed!” Jane calls, and starts climbing to her feet. Bucky offers her a hand, and she gives him a grateful smile placing her band-aid wrapped fingers in his metal ones.

“What? No, I’ve got this,” Darcy’s voice is muffled. “I just gotta attach this here, and then, dammit where’s my welding mask?”

Bucky follows the sound of her voice and finds her ducked under a desk. A wrench and then a Hulk lunchbox are tossed over her shoulder. 

“Fuck. Where did I put it? I just had it.” She emerges from under the desk and blows her hair out of her face. 

“Maybe it’s time to call it a night?”

She zeroes in on him with narrowed eyes, which then flick over his face. “Do I look as rough as you?”

“Not possible,” Bucky answers promptly, but he does gently brush a finger over the blueish half circles under her eyes. “But a break might not be a bad idea.”

“Yeah, probably. What’s up with you? Can’t sleep?” 

Bucky shrugs a shoulder.

She shrugs hers back at him. “Wanna help me shut down since Jane bailed and left it all for me, and then we can watch something?”

“That sounds really good,” Bucky says, because he’s decided he has to be more open with her about how much he enjoys spending time around her, how important she is to him. Which means no more deflecting with humor, or hinting at his feelings because then she’ll deflect with humor. But it came out a little too fervently and he winces, and she stops, frowning.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

Bucky sighs, because there is no way to explain it that doesn’t set off alarm bells for most people. He’s well aware that he’s a barrel of messed up issues, but this isn’t any of that. It’s just normal fucking worry for someone he cares about, and some kind of suddenly can’t talk to women tomfoolery that he just does not understand. 

“It’s my normal sleep problems, and I’m tired of dealing with them, so I thought I would see if you were up. That’s it, that’s all.”

Not smooth. Not anywhere near putting his best foot forward. Jesus. 

Is it because a woman has never meant as much, so his old charm is failing him? Or is it that he can’t actually get that old him back? Is it gone forever, only to be tapped into like an old skillset to be used, but not inhabited? Not real? 

He’s well aware that he’d marked off quite a few things on that list of hers, and she might consider him off the hook. Forgiven. 

Bucky doesn’t want to be off the hook. 

Darcy seems reluctant to retract his worst neighbor ever status. She’s oddly determined to keep them in their separate places, divided by her supposed lingering anger over his wrongs. It would be one thing if he thought she was truly still angry. And another if he thought it might have something to do with the Soldier.

But that doesn’t seem to be the case. So he’s fine with working his way through her list, on the chance that one of the times he shows her his completed project of the day she’ll actually follow through when she bounces on her toes and reaches for him.

Or instead of realizing she’s been caught staring at his lips and ordering him to stir the rice, she’ll lean over and kiss him. 

“Okay,” she says, “just give me a minute. FRIDAY? Can you shut us down?”

She moves around the lab, and by the time Bucky remembers that she’d asked him to help her, she’s already gathering up a discarded sweater and shutting the cabinets in the kitchenette. 

“Need a hand?” he asks, far too late, but she’s up on her tiptoes trying to put a box of pop tarts on a shelf just barely out of her reach.

“Nope, got it.” She hops a little and the box wobbles on the shelf, but stays in place. “I’ve got an inch on Jane, and she deserves this in the morning after bailing on me tonight. It was totally her turn to clean up the lab.”

Bucky searches for something else to say, the quiet seeming to get louder and louder in his ears, until she leans into him. The physical contact, the little nudges she gives him until he wraps his arm around her, eases his over-reaction. 

He hopes Steve is doing better than this with Wilson. If he’s not, the punk learned nothing.

She stops abruptly mere steps into her apartment. “Sweet Frigga, we can’t watch in here.” 

Bucky looks at the out of place furniture, blocking the view of the television from the couch. 

“But holy shit, look how good it looks. Bucky,” she crosses the room to stand at the edge of the living room, looking into the kitchen and dining room, “it looks  _ so  _ amazing.”

He’s prepared when she turns on her heel and practically throws herself at him. He catches her, lifting her off her feet because she likes it and damn if he doesn’t love having her in his arms. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she gushes, squeezing him. “I can’t believe how different and perfect and awesome my apartment looks.” 

“It’s no trouble,” Bucky says into her hair. It smells like smoke. He’d never realized how much fire was involved with space science. 

“Liar,” she accuses, pulling back.

“It’s not.” His whisper feels more like a confession, and she picks up on it. 

After staring back at him for a second, she hugs him again. With her arms still around him she rises on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek, a lingering kiss that makes Bucky’s heart lurch. “Come on, let's grab a bunch of blankets and watch at your place. Do you have any snacks?”

She makes a bag of popcorn and grabs one of the giant blueberry muffins she’d made a few days ago. He tries not to think about how sad his apartment must look. He should have listened to Steve and bought a damned end table or put up some pictures. 

It doesn’t really matter though. Within minutes she’s curled up against him on the couch, not even bothering to start on her own side. Instead, she weaves her legs through his, her always cold feet pressed to the backs of his calf muscles. And as Bucky settles, her hand slides into his hair, fingertips dragging over his scalp, making slow, soothing circles. 

By the time they’ve made it through four episodes of  _ NewsRadio  _ they’re mostly laying down and her head is tucked under his chin. Bucky feels the last of the tension seep out of muscles and his breathing deepen and lets himself doze as the introductory music for another episode plays.


	23. Chapter 23

“You sonuvabitch!” Thor says the moment the elevator doors open and he spies her waiting to board. He even crinkles his face and glares for a moment, pointing at her with one dramatically extended hand. Jane’s message relayed, he smiles brightly. “Good morn, sister. How do you fare?”

Darcy motions with her to-go mug. She’s got coffee, that’s the best a morning can be. “Jane had to call in the big guns to get those pop tarts, huh?”

“It is unkind to torture her so in the morning, but I trust you had good reason.”

“That I did.” She props her mug on the railing, then sets to stretching. Darcy is pretty smart. She graduated in the top of her class. It only took a couple crippling leg cramps mid-jog for her to learn that those pontificating assholes who tell you to ‘always stretch’ are actually onto something, unlike those jerks who say to keep all of your tax information in one place. Who even has a filing cabinet anymore?

“You look well.”

“Thank you for noticing,” Darcy tips her head up to smile at him. “Bucky and I are trying these new face masks. Would you say my complexion is clearer? Are my pores smaller? Should someone paint a portrait of me to hang in a hallowed hall so it can be toasted for generations?”

“Verily.”

Darcy switches legs, curling her fingers around the toe of her left sneaker. But she’s still looking at Thor, who is intently studying the wall.

“Are there any portraits of me that I should know about already hanging in hallowed halls being toasted?” she asks, because she knows that carefully blank expression.

Thor makes a dismissive gesture. “Of course not. Hallowed halls. Asgard does not have halls such as this where we partake of alcohol. Our halls are too lively, they are loud and filled with honor for the living, upon those-”

“I am one hundred percent gonna have to see it next time we go up,” Darcy interrupts, because he’s getting on a roll. Once he’s going, it’s hard to stop him until there’s a small crowd gathered and some dude from Webster’s Thesaurus is silently crying as he takes notes and nods reverentially.

Darcy straightens and lifts her arms above her head, shaking her hands. That’s not one of the approved stretches, but Bucky’s couch is hella uncomfortable. She can’t believe he ever had the nerve to insult her couch.

The elevator doors open again on the gym level. Wanda often uses the jog as a cool down. She steps onto the elevator already damp with sweat, ear buds hanging around her neck.

“Soon Natasha will be with us again,” Wanda notes, wiping under her eyes with the hem of her t-shirt.

“She can get used to the doughnut break or she can find new running buddies.” Darcy grabs her coffee and drains it, past experience having made it glaringly obvious that running with a travel mug is an annoying, messy affair.  

Her morning jogs with Thor and Wanda are her favorites. Their halfway point doughnut stops are delicious and now sacred. Darcy had been running with Wanda and Thor, and sometimes Natasha, for almost a year now and it had taken forbidden sugary goodness to finally get Wanda to loosen up around them.

“I can explain to Natasha that we are merely training the muscles of our hearts and souls with as much dedication as the muscles of our physical forms,” Thor offers.

Wanda cuts a look at Darcy. The other woman is one hundred percent allergic to emotions, it seems like. Darcy doesn’t know if she was that way before Pietro was killed, or if it’s new.  In the beginning Thor’s “world’s most supportive friend” thing had made her all of the uncomfortable. But now she just mostly rolls her eyes or enjoys watching Natasha’s eye twitch.

Thor totally goes over the top with it, for those very reactions.

They hit the garage level and pull up their hoods. Darcy feels the bite of the cold October morning and sees her breath in white clouds.

Oh, if only her past self could see her now. Jogging in the fucking morning. In the cold.

They start at a steady pace, or at least as steady of a pace as they can in the city. There’s the early work crowd, construction, and lines for coffee shops to dodge. It would be even worse later, which is why Darcy somehow ended up being a five am jogger.

She doesn’t like to admit that her mind does actually clear when she’s jogging. Kind of like the shower experience, it’s one of the best times for thinking things through.

Plus the lack of unbearable training sessions with Hogun a couple times a week has really improved her training experience overall. Might she, Frigga forbid, actually become a _jogging person_?

There’s something about the thump of her feet against the sidewalk (another thing she’d never admit out loud. What is she, a guest editorial in the New Yorker? Will she next reflect on the morning haze and the steam rising from the various coffee stands?) that helps her focus even as her mind drifts.

And where does her mind drift? Straight to Bucky, of course.

Bucky, who had started to wake up when she slipped out of his arms this morning, but had settled back in when she pressed a kiss to his forehead and adjusted the blankets over him.

That’s officially the second time she’s not been able to resist kissing him.

Darcy picks up speed, even as she acknowledges that it’s different. She’d always wanted to kiss him. The man is gorgeous and charming in this intoxicating, tempting kind of way. Being around him is heady - the way he focuses all of his attention on her, how quick he is, how funny and endearing and flirtatious.

She’d resisted all of that. She hadn’t given in and dragged him closer, even if the mere thought of it sends a thrill of hungry desire through her, heating her stomach and setting certain parts of her anatomy tingling.

But lately? The urge to kiss him had not been entirely of the let's make use of the nearest horizontal surface variety. No, they’d been more of the overwhelmed by feelings variety.

She has feelings for Bucky. Exactly what she’d thought she’d been avoiding by not knocking boots with him. She’d carefully maintained a platonic friends only relationship with him, all the while apparently developing feelings for him.

Last night he’d been frustrated and obviously off-kilter, and it had bothered her more than she’d been willing to admit.

Strong feelings. She has strong feelings for Bucky Barnes.

“Darcy!” Wanda calls.

Darcy slows, turning because she’s on her own suddenly. Thor and Wanda have stopped. Wanda motions to the doughnut shop, with its windows full of decadent, over the top pastries and sweet rolls.

“You missed the doughnut shop.” Wanda is obviously suspicious.

“Her mind is distracted,” Thor explains, looking particularly pleased.

“Oh?”

“I will pay you both in doughnuts to not talk about this,” Darcy pleas, panting as she retraces her steps.

“Too late, Thor already texted me.” Jane offers Darcy a salute. She’s accompanied by Kalende, one of the half decent security peeps. He’ll more than likely settle at a nearby table and pull out his phone, since Wanda and Thor count as security enough for Jane and Darcy. “I am ready for some sugar and emotional truths, so let's get this show on the road.”

Darcy’s vague thoughts of making a break for it dissolve when the first icy raindrop hits her cheek.  If Jane left the lab, it means none of them are going to be easily persuaded to let Darcy willfully avoid hashing out her feelings. Emotional truths indeed.

The inside of the shop is very warm, leaving the windows nearest the door to fog. The smell of yeasty bread and confectioners sugar is overpowering and heavenly.

“You guys can buy the doughnuts if you’re going to be jerks,” Darcy tells them, heading towards the bathroom in the back. She almost stops to tell them to grab a couple extra doughnuts for Bucky, but catches herself. Besides, he’ll probably be at his therapy appointment when she gets back anyway.

In the bathroom she washes her face and tries to fix her ponytail. She’s never getting layers that short again, they’re a pain in the ass.

When she leaves the bathroom, Thor and Jane are still in line, but Wanda has claimed a table. Kalende has pulled a chair back against the wall, far enough away to give them privacy.

Darcy makes her way to the table, taking some extra long steps to help stretch her leg muscles. Usually they don’t get a table. They scarf down their doughnuts in front of the shop like real half-committed joggers.

“Is this about Bucky?” Wanda asks when Darcy throws herself into a chair.

“No,” Darcy responds childishly.

Wanda smiles knowingly and Darcy wonders why she ever wanted to bring the other woman out of her shell anyway. It was obviously a mistake.

“If it’s worth anything, I think he likes you too. Not because I read his mind,” Wanda is quick to clarify. “He seems happier. He spars with me sometimes, and I noticed a difference a couple weeks ago.”

“Probably because he’s actually eating real food and enough of it,” Darcy grumbles, even as a part of her takes that tidbit and tucks it away.

“Well, I have heard good things about your cooking, but I am not so sure it’s capable of that.”

“Thor. I swear, one day he’s gonna talk me up to someone and I’m gonna get invited to the White House or something to wow them with my chef skills and they’re gonna have to be happy with Country Casserole.”

“It was actually Clint. Something about stroganoff worth killing for?”

“What the hell, man? These hero types, I swear they eat like shit half the time and if someone makes them something halfway edible that has a vegetable in it they’re ready to change allegiance and fight to the death for a second helping.”

“Second helping of what?” Thor clumsily sets a cup of coffee in front of Darcy, then slides a box of doughnuts onto the table.

“Nothing,” Darcy flips the box open and grabs for a cocoa puff encrusted chocolate filled chocolate iced chocolate doughnut. If she’s gonna have to do this, she’s gonna need it. Besides, none of these sadistic assholes deserve it. She’d text Bucky about this bullshit, but she’s feeling a little called out on the whole Bucky thing.

Jane’s not playing though, she tosses out doughnuts like a blackjack dealer and then laser focuses on Darcy, “Spill.”

“Share,” Thor pats Jane’s arm, “that which you are comfortable sharing among friends. We are ready to listen.”

“Mmm. Do tell.” Wanda props her chin on her fist.

“What do you guys want to know?” Darcy demands. She takes a huge bite of her doughnut and talks around a full mouth, “That I have feelings for Bucky, like an idiot? I do. There.”

Wanda’s face scrunches in disgust and she slides a brown paper napkin closer to Darcy.

“We already knew you had feelings. Who do you think we are? Those old blind theater puppets?” Jane waves that away even as both Wanda and Thor frown in confusion. “Why are you an idiot?”

“Did you mean _muppets_? They’re muppets, Jane. Statler and Waldorf,” Darcy shakes her head. “Puppets.”

“I am certain we would love to hear about ‘muppets’ later, but for now I wish to hear why you believe yourself to be lacking of wits.” Thor is looking at her in that way that she knows. He will totally abandon his pile of doughnuts if her answer doesn’t convince him that she was being dramatic.

“I don’t want to hear about the muppets. Puppets are creepy,” Wanda says, licking raspberry jam off her thumb.

“Okay, one, blasphemy, Maximoff. You and me, this Saturday, _Muppets Treasure Island_ , I’m not taking no for an answer. Two, it’s just that I knew better. Bucky is a heartbreak waiting to happen, that I saw a mile away, and then my heart pulled a Katniss Everdeen and bam, here we are.”

“Why is Bucky a heartbreak ready to happen?” Jane looks from Wanda to Thor.

“Did you not read any history book ever that covered World War Two? Like forty-eleven women _and_ men fell in love with him back then.” Darcy holds up a messy hand. “And I know what you’re going to say, that was seventy years ago, but he’s been a smooth operator ever since he moved into the Tower.”

“A smooth operator, Darce? Really?” Jane motions with her doughnut, a glob of Bavarian cream plopping onto the table. “Anyway, how do you know he’s a ‘ _smooth operator_ ’?”

“Thor told me,” Darcy says primly.

“Psh, Thor doesn’t know what a smooth operator is.”

“He said that Bucky seeks temporary comforts of the flesh and avoids meaningful contact when it would be beneficial to him to have a heart’s mate.”

“Temporary comforts of the flesh,” Wanda repeats, looking between Jane and Thor with obvious amusement.

“Did you or did you not seek temporary comforts of the flesh before you met me? I do believe I heard Sif and the Warriors Three talking about a lady in every realm?” Jane quirks an inquisitive brow.

“It was never my intention to disparage my shield brother. I only know how much stronger I am with you by my side, my love.” Thor frowns. “It appears that I owe Bucky an apology.”

“Which you will not give to him until after I’ve talked to him,” Darcy tells him.

“Oh good, she decided to talk to him all on her own.” Jane toasts with her new doughnut. “Now just to hammer out when.”

“Soon,” Darcy says, standing up. This seems like an excellent time to get back to jogging. Fitness is so important. Jane looks dubious. “Tonight, even. Probably. Definitely tonight. It’s just a conversation. Tonight.”


	24. Chapter 24

“Bucky, I have to tell you something,” Darcy has her chin propped on her knees. She’s wrapped in a blanket and her hair is in a lopsided bun on top of her head. 

“You  _ did  _ want something while I was up?” Bucky guesses, setting his plate on the side table. He’d brought enough food to share, because she’ll probably eat from his plate despite claiming she wasn’t hungry. She can never resist movie snacks.

“No, I’m sloshing, I already told you.” The covers move, and he’s pretty sure she’s rubbing her stomach. “I don’t actually want to watch this movie.”

“Have you already seen it?” Bucky glances at the screen. It had just been added earlier today, and it’s right up her alley. A group of friends off on vacation, some big bad in a creepy remote cabin, and one of the main characters actually looks like Thor. He’d really thought she’d get a kick out of that.

“Well, when I’m drunk,  _ not that I’m drunk _ , Jane the traitor did  _ not  _ need to call you, but when I’m drunk, or you know, tipsy, I have weird dreams.” She motions to the screen, her hand waggling, a math equation in red ink disappearing into her sleeve, “I do not need all of that in my head tonight.”

“Fair enough,” Bucky leans forward, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. “More  _ NewsRadio _ ?”

She wiggles her toes under his thigh and shrugs. “I don’t even really like watching horror movies that much.”

Bucky turns to face her, abandoning the to-watch menu. “How’s that? Because we’ve watched about twenty too many flicks if that’s the case.”

She rolls her eyes, lashes fluttering from the effort she puts into it. “For research.”

“Research,” Bucky repeats. This should be good. Christ, she’s a piece of work. He loves it. 

“Rule number one of Nat’s super stay alive training is to be unpredictable.”

She stares back at him, then widens her eyes, waiting for understanding to dawn.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one, sweetheart.” 

“Horror movies are  _ all  _ about improvisation! The killers are going around with old-school rakes and the victims are clocking people with rotary dial telephones,” Darcy taps her temple with one blue painted nail, “and I’m sitting here taking notes. You should have seen the time I took Hogun out with a yoga mat and my fitbit. Don’t tell Tony I have a fitbit.”

“Are you serious right now?” Bucky asks, rubbing a hand over his jaw to hide his smile.

“Excuse me?” She crawls onto her knees, wobbling to the side before she braces herself against the couch, “Mr. yanked the steering wheel out of someone’s car in the middle of the highway? Wait, wait, that shenanigan could be attributed to the brainwashing, but how about when you threw pieces of an airport at Spider Man? Yeah, I hacked that footage. ‘Splain.”

“How likely is it that I’m gonna have to break you out of some kinda government lock-up?” Bucky knows for a fact that the airport footage has about eighteen levels of clearance attached to it. Public opinion had been a little iffy after that amount of destruction, and it was decided by people in high places that it would be best if the world didn’t see the Avengers and friends ripping the place apart with their bare hands and playing dodgeball with the family sedan from long term parking.

“I would say be prepared. Wait! How about on that  _ other  _ highway. That thing with the motorcycle? Improvisation at its - I mean. Well. That was something.” She sits back on her heels, cheeks flushing. “Definitely, really something.”

“Somethin’, huh?” Bucky’s momentary inner panic at the thought of her seeing footage him as the Soldier fades pretty quickly in light of her reaction. Her pupils have blown out, and she licks her lips. It would kill him to see her afraid of him, and her seeing the worst of what he could be would have been the one thing left that could have tipped the scales. 

He’d known that she’d been through a lot, alien invasions and kidnapping attempts. She took it all in stride, for the most part. But he’d still been afraid, in his darker moments imagining finding her door suddenly locked when he went over for breakfast, or seeing her headed out with a security agent for coffee, avoiding eye contact as they passed him.  

“Do you know what this is like?” she asks, puffing her cheeks as she lets out a big breath. “This is like when I told you about the sweater. Super embarrassing.”

“The sweater?” 

“You know? The green one? Cable knit? The one where you look all,” she motions up and down, her cheeks darkening further.

“I don’t think you told me about the sweater.” Bucky says, honestly. If she had, he would have worn it more often. He’s about ninety-percent sure she’s talking about one that Pepper had given him, that had turned out to be really soft. He’d figured that’s why she picked it for him. But maybe Pepper just had a good eye. He should thank Pepper. He should wear that sweater more.

“I didn’t tell you about sweater? Until just now, when I told you about the sexy sweater?” She drops her head down and groans. “Is the offer for another glass of water still on the table?”

Bucky stares at the top of her head. Her bun is slipping further to one side and he can just smell the sweet vanilla scent of her shampoo. The woman always smells like dessert, and it’s not fair because he’d always had a terrible sweet tooth. And now maybe she’s saying she feels the same way? 

Other than a few instances where it had been clear she found him attractive, she’d been damn near impossible to read. And sure, her words now are still only about attraction, but the look on her face had possibly been more? 

That’s the big question, the one for all the marbles. Hope had filled him, and yeah, it’s all bright and good, but it’s also a sharp thing, so easily flipped into a weapon. He’s dying to ask her. 

He could lean closer, tip her head back up and cover her lips with his. He’s itched to slide his fingers into her hair and down her neck. He wants to kiss her skin and trace his tongue over it, to find out if it tastes as good as it smells. He’s thought about that way too much. 

She’s irresistible, and it only gets worse the more time he spends with her. In the morning, while more coffee brews and she’s standing at the stove making breakfast, and she’s lecturing him about eggs when he damn well cooks them better than her, he aches to keep her near after he steals the spatula and takes over. She pokes him in the ribs when she sees something that amuses her out on the street and it’s all he can do to not catch that hand and press a kiss into the center of her palm.  

Does she mean what she’s saying? Do her words mean to her what they do to him? Or will she feel differently in the morning? Leaving him with a broken heart and a ruined friendship.  As it is, he feels a little guilty for letting her continue talking. “Sure thing, Darce.”

On the way into the kitchen he has to step over the jagged edge and the folded back carpet because he still hasn’t finished the threshold. 

He grabs the glass she’d been using and fills it no more than halfway full of ice, a very important detail when it comes to Darcy’s drinks, then fills it with a little less water than normal because she’s a little unsteady and likely to spill. She’d been pretty steady walking when he’d picked her up from Jane and Thor’s apartment, just a little clumsier than normal and less capable of recovering. She’d tried to lean on the handrail in the elevator and had missed.

Bucky tries not to think about what the meaningful look Jane had given him could mean in light of Darcy’s babbled confessions. He hadn’t been surprised by Jane’s text, she’d been contacting him off and on for stealth repair jobs while Thor was out. Instead of a plea for a shelf to be hung during Thor’s lunch with Wanda and Vision at the Children’s Hospital, or a bed frame to be put together while Thor and Tony sparred, Jane had asked him to come retrieve his missing neighbor. 

Back in the living room she’s taken the remote and has  _ NewsRadio  _ queued up. Her cheeks are still pinked with color, and she hardly looks at him when she takes the glass from him. 

He can take a hint, and he definitely doesn’t want her saying anything she’ll regret. It’s for the best that they leave that conversation behind. For now.

Bucky can tell she’s uncomfortable as the show starts. She’s sitting straight up instead of being flopped over, taking up more than her fair share of the couch. She doesn’t laugh with her normal abandon and seems distracted. 

At the end of the episode, she flicks back to the main menu instead of starting a new one. Bucky stands. He’d never wanted her to be uncomfortable. It’s the exact opposite of what he’d wanted. 

She walks him to the door, keeping enough distance between them that she brushes against the wind chimes hanging near the hallway.

“Bucky?” she says, once he’s out in the hallway, a detail that does not go unnoticed. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” 

“I think we should talk about this tomorrow. You know, sweaters and motorcycle improvisation.” 

Her cheeks are bright red again and she nods once, then quickly shuts the door. 


	25. Chapter 25

Darcy feels like an idiot. Also, butterflies are having some kind of butterfly mosh pit in her stomach. That means her pounding heart is totally the dubstep bass in this scenario, and the butterflies are loving it.

Tough shit for the butterflies, because Darcy totally took a class on staying calm in emergency situations last fall and she knows about four different breathing exercises to work through as she rolls out the dough for cinnamon rolls. 

She’d woken up bright and early, with a minor but nagging headache, the blame for which could probably be equally laid at the feet of her anxious mind and her over indulgence of wine last night.

What had started out as a quick dinner with Jane and Thor, and a glass of wine or two to relax, had turned into a few hands of cards. And her nerves about talking with Bucky had lead to a third and fourth glass of wine.

Thor had stated that he was perfectly capable of walking Darcy up to her apartment - and Darcy had stated that she was perfectly fine getting to her apartment alone - but Jane’s smile had been downright evil when she’d said she’d already texted Bucky.

So she’d started her Sunday far earlier than normal, which had been an excellent excuse to make cinnamon rolls from scratch. While the dough was rising she’d taken an extra long shower, pampering herself with her sugar body scrub. With time to kill, she’d done her hair and played with her make-up. It never fails that the days she stays in are often the days she looks the best. Wtf, universe?

But now, when she doesn’t keep an iron-fisted hold on her stupid brain, she wonders if he’ll think she got all done up for their talk. Like, she’s trying way, way too hard. 

Who does full-on make up and curled hair for breakfast? If she’d completely misread things last night, this is going to be the most awkward, embarrassing moment of her life. Had he looked wanting, or was she fucking things up and he’d actually looked like he just wanted that situation to end? 

“Sergeant Barnes is at the door,” FRIDAY reports dutifully. Darcy had thought that she’d be less nervous if she could count on some warning of when he’d come in.

“Stop being an idiot,” she hisses at herself when she compulsively starts stacking bowls into the sink. “It doesn’t matter if there’s dishes on the counter.”

She smoothes her hands down her shirt and pulls her shoulders back. She’s ready. It’s fine. Even if she misread the situation last night, it’s not the end of the world. Everything is cool.

Why the fuck is he taking so long? Did he decided not to just waltz in anymore now that Darcy had expressed her admiration for his form? 

Darcy stomps through the kitchen, hops over the unfinished line between the dining room and the living room and stalks to the door. “Is he still there, FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Darcy.”

Darcy reaches the door and yanks it open. Her eyes find him kneeling on the floor just as she hears a crunch. 

Her poor alligator sits in his palm in two pieces. 

“You are the worst neighbor ever.” She stares in disbelief. “That is the third time you’ve broken Hank!”

“Shit, doll. I’ll fix’im.” Bucky stands, cradling the alligator. “There was a leaf and I was grabbing it and then you opened the door.”

Darcy leans close to peer into his hand. Hank is a mess of repaired cracks already. “It’s fine. I was thinking about ordering a replacement anyway.”

“No, no, no, he’ll be fine.” Bucky edges past her, making a beeline for her craft hutch in the corner of the living room. 

“I think that’s asking a little much of both Hank and the glue,” Darcy tells him as her timer starts mooing. 

She checks the cinnamon rolls, poking at them gently, but they’re never ready at the low end of the bake time. The tops have started to brown, but the middles are still pale, flecks of cinnamon stark against the undercooked dough. “Not ready yet,” she yells over her shoulder, and shuts the oven. 

She turns, to check on the emergency surgery, and nearly collides with him. Her nose comes within centimeters of his blue  _ Save the bees, bee-otch  _ shirt. 

“Did you give up on Hank? Or do you have a special weakness for cinnamon rolls? If that’s the case, you should have said something  _ before  _ you broke Hank again,” Darcy babbles, which was not part of the plan, but she’s not surprised it’s happening. She clamps her mouth shut before she really goes off track. 

“You said we needed to talk today.” 

“That I did. I was both specific with my goal setting and ambitious.” Darcy sees his lips twitch, and for some reason that calms her nerves by about half. 

“I wanted to make sure that you know that I am very happy to be your friend. I like talkin’ to you and hearin’ what you think, and I’m looking forward to that Whiskey, Bourbon and Scotch tasting class next week.” 

Oh. Okay. Okay.

“Yes.” Darcy nods, mind scrambling to latch onto actual words to line up in an actual sentence. “I love hanging out with you too. Even if you break my stuff.”

Rocky start, but she pulled through in the end. Using ‘love’ had been stupid, but she recovered. 

Bucky tilts his head, studying her for a second. He opens his mouth, then shuts it again. “I can’t tell if this is normal confusion or if this is something that I’m misunderstanding due to my gaps in cultural awareness.”

“Confusion? What confusion? What, uh, what, what are you confused about?” Darcy will be searching for a handy surface to bang her head against just as soon as she can muster an excuse to leave the room. 

And yep, past the panic and desire to text Jane a 911 so she can interrupt and end this situation, there’s the hurt. Those soft, fledgling feels for him that had grown even as she tried to be cautious because  _ this  _ might happen. 

“I read this article about the friend zone, and how some assholes think their friends owe them something if they develop feelings and I just can’t tell where the line is. I would never want to make you uncomfortable, you mean too much to me.”

Darcy blinks. She can see all of the individual words he’d said floating around in her mind, but they are not adding up to anything that makes sense.

“Quick question,” she says as the butterflies get going for the encore, “kissing me, yay or nay?”

“Yay.” 

“Yaaaaaaaay,” Darcy uses her jazz hands to pull him closer. She tilts her face up as her body thrills in his proximity, then she balks. “Oh, I have like three layers of this tinted lip balm on, that’s supposed to moisturize with like avocado oil or something, so-”

His lips are very soft, even if it was kind of rude to cut her off. She’s going to give him a pass on it, she decides, because the man has skills. She’s always had a thing for full lips, and Bucky’s are sinful. 

She’s got a damned good imagination, and kissing Bucky is everything she’d ever hoped and dreamed. Which is why she makes a pathetic noise that is most certainly not by any means a whimper when he pulls back.

“Dollface, I ain’t even close to done with you,” he rasps, his hands sliding quickly down her sides to cup her ass. He lifts her onto the counter and then steps between her thighs. The man is a genius. “What?”

“Hm?” Darcy hums, “Oh, I was just thinking about what good ideas you have.” 

His mouth curves into a lopsided smile, but his eyes drop back down to her lips. Darcy wets them with her tongue and she can actually see his reaction in his eyes. “I got a lot more of ‘em.”

“Good ideas?” She wraps her legs around his hips, using them to pull him snug against her. 

“So, so many,” he promises.

Darcy drags her hands down his front, feeling his warmth through his shirt, and the firm swells and hard planes of his muscles. “I think you should try out three or four of them.”

“Oughta. At least five.” Bucky tips his head and kisses the corner of her mouth. 

That’s really cute and all, and it made her heart flip over, but it’s been weeks of having just enough to know how much she’s missing. She winds a hand through his hair and holds him where she wants him.

If leaning forward to kiss him happens to grind her against him, well, that’s just a really, really spectacular bonus. 

When Bucky picks her up and starts to carry her out of the kitchen, her brain is entirely focused on how amazing his hands feel against her, how confident he is. 

The thing that saves her is something in the back of her mind that notices and appreciates the smell of cinnamon. 

“No, no,” Darcy straightens in his arms and he stops so immediately his boots thump on her tile floor, “I mean, yes, yes, all of the yes, but after we get the cinnamon rolls out of the oven. Let me-”

She cuts off as he pivots on his heel and crosses the kitchen in large steps. She wraps her arms around his neck when he transfers her weight to one arm and uses the metal one to open the oven and pull out the hot pan. 

Since it seems like he’s got that whole thing under control, Darcy decides she can turn her attention elsewhere. Like his neck and that jaw that should be illegal but maybe not now that she gets to kiss it. It’s perfectly smooth under her lips, and she can smell what’s left of his aftershave.

Fuck, the sound he makes goes straight through her. The last two men she’d slept with had been the stoic, mostly silent type. 

Wanting to know what other sounds she can coax out of him, she scrapes her teeth lightly along the edge of his jaw bone, then replaces her teeth with her tongue. She’s rewarded with a rumbling growl that turns into an almost whine. 

His eyes are dark when they meet hers, dark with desire, but there is also something happy about them. The slightest creasing at their corners. It makes her smile, because that is what has undone her. Ruined all of her efforts to keep him two steps removed from her, and out of her heart.

These past weeks of her life have been bright again, and only so much of it can be attributed to the freedom she gained with his presence. More of it is just him, his smiles and jokes and constant company. 

His laugh makes her laugh, his smiles curve her lips, and she knows enough to know there is plenty of room for trouble in those kinds of equations but right now it is a happy secret shared between them. Realization makes them giddy and the best kind of reckless. 

“I know that you are very aware of how gorgeous you are,” Darcy tells him, bringing both her hands up to cradle his face, brushing her thumbs over his temples, “but there’s just no way you can completely understand how fucking gorgeous you are right now. Not even you can be that full of yourself.”

“You’re such a smart ass all the time,” he says, carrying her through the living room.

“Yeah, but where was the lie?” 

“Y’know this was all I could think about when I was putting this thing together?” Bucky asks, crawling onto her bed and gently putting her down so her back is resting against the riot of throw pillows decorating it.

“That’s real handy, because I couldn’t stop thinking about you putting it together every time I was in it.” Darcy swats at the mounds of pillows, sending them scattering to the floor on either side of the bed. “And then the other day, with the toolbelt and no shirt? What even was I supposed to do with that?”

“Me?” Bucky suggests.

The pillows off the bed, Darcy turns her full attention on him and raises an eyebrow. She grabs the bottom hem of his t-shirt and tugs upwards. “Oh, he’s got jokes?”

He takes the hint and pulls it off. Darcy figures fair is fair and yanks her own top over her head. As soon as the fabric clears her lips, he’s kissing her.

Desire surges in her veins and anticipation makes her nerve endings sing. It’s hard to think, but she shimmies her hips down, unable to shake off the small part of her brain that’s very aware of the roll of her stomach when she’s sitting upright. 

Bucky helps her, one hand coming down to cup the back of her knee. Goosebumps bloom to life following the trail of his fingers. 

“Is this- Is it okay?” He asks haltingly, a far cry from the self-assuredness that had taken over after their initial confusion.

“Definitely okay,” Darcy promises. It must be some kind of leftover old world manners thing, from back in the day when women were taught to keep their knees together or else. Unless it’s an old world thing for  _ him _ . Maybe they’re going too fast? “Is this okay for you?”

His jaw shifts, muscles taut, a sure sign of frustration. Usually that particular mannerism comes out when he’s talking about Dr. Calderon. 

Darcy straightens a little, scooting back against the pillows that remain on the bed. She almost tips, her hand landing, somewhat ironically, on the bright pink little pillow that read  _ fuck  _ in neon yellow. “What’s up, Bucky?”

He’s never lied to her. They’ve always been able to be blunt and open with each other. It’s why she gets along with him so well - no bullshit.  

Bucky leans his forehead against hers. Darcy slides her fingers into his hair to rub the nape of his neck. That always helps him relax. 

“I know it’s not the done thing to bring up other women in bed, but I usually keep the arm outta things,” he says, and she can hear the plates in his left arm readjusting, like they do when he makes a tight fist, “but it’s never seemed to bother you. I just needed to make sure you were okay with it here, in bed.”

“Mmmmm, boundaries.” Darcy sneaks a quick kiss onto his lips, their noses bumping as she keeps their foreheads touching, “A-plus sexy fun times partner, Bucky. How about you do what you’re comfortable with, and I promise to tell you if it’s not working for me?”

He shifts, nipping at her ear, “You’re some kind of dame, you know that?” 

“Some kind of dame? You know, I’ve always wanted to be some,” she sucks in a breath when he skims the shell of her ear with his tongue, “kind...of...dame.”

“Yeah?” Bucky sucks her lobe into his mouth, his teeth grazing it before his tongue sweeps over it again. Darcy shivers. “You’re beautiful.”

He tips her head back, metal fingers drifting over her jaw. His lips move to her neck. “Gorgeous, Darce. So fuckin’ gorgeous.”

When his hands close around her breasts, she can’t help but arch into his touch, hips bucking up. After that, the rest of their clothes are quick to follow their shirts. 

The part of her that is always so hard to banish with a new partner - the one that keeps track of how she moves so she hides the puckers of cellulite in her thighs when she sits a certain way or straightens her spine when a lover reaches around to touch her stomach - that part of her is quieted by the reverential way Bucky touches her.

He presses his fingertips against her skin just hard enough that they sink in a bit, and slowly drags them down her side, over the generous swell of her hip and down the outside of her thigh. His eyes follow the movement and when they meet hers again, she only sees lust and wonder, like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever touched.

That combined with how unbelievably good-looking and mind-blowingly responsive he is makes it easy for her to turn off that insecure part of her mind for a little while. It’s hard to focus on anything other than his groans and gasps for air when she works her way down his body. His thigh muscles shake when she runs her fingers up and down them as she kisses her way over his hip bone and finally reaches the hardness between his legs. 

When he eventually pushes her away and lays her back to crawl between her legs, Darcy can feel the wetness between her thighs. She kisses his neck again, just under his ear where she’d found he was sensitive, as he makes quick work of putting on the condom.

Once he slides into her, she’s lost to sensation. When she presses her face into his neck it’s the sharp clean scent of his aftershave, it’s the strength in his hands and the surprisingly hot contrast in the feel of his right and left hands. 

It builds and builds, the sounds of his pleasure only spurring her on, until she abandons all care and is chasing her orgasm, frenzied with hips made clumsy, fast and grinding. She feels the callouses on the his fingers when he pinches her nipple one last time, and then she turns her face into her pillow as her mind goes white and her body soars.The guttural grunt he gives as she feels herself clench around him makes her smile with blissed-out satisfaction.

A few minutes later she’s coming back down - becoming aware of her breaths and the pillowcase blocking her mouth and her frantic heartbeat gradually slowing. 

And the loud mooing.

“I reset the timer instead of turning it off,” Darcy groans. 

She feels Bucky begin to shake next to her and turns her head, blowing a piece of her hair out of her mouth, to see him laughing. 

She flops her arm to smack at him lazily, but she’s smiling up at her canopy.


	26. Chapter 26

Bucky comes awake slowly, a rare thing for him. Usually his eyes snap open, and his brain is alert. Sometimes, he wakes up with adrenaline surging, thanks to a dream or a strange sound. But usually, it’s just instant awareness.

Now he feels warm and full. His muscles are all relaxed, and he can see warm light through his eyelids. The rhythm of a heavy beat, slow and lazy, keeps time for a sexy jazz song.

He’s at Darcy’s, on the magic couch, and he’d eaten too many cinnamon rolls. He’d eaten just enough cinnamon rolls, actually, but with her in his lap, it had been too easy to finish the last half of the one she hadn’t been able to.

When he’d dozed off, Darcy had been reading a book Wanda had given her. Bucky had cleaned up from the cinnamon rolls and then told himself he was going to read as well. He’d picked up one of the books she’d ordered on Scotch, to brush up before their class.

Bucky opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is a tin flying saucer, hanging next to an overgrown philodendron. In the bubbled cockpit a tiny green alien has an arm raised in a wave.

He turns his head as he stretches, but finds the dusky pink fainting couch that is Darcy’s favorite reading place empty. 

Instead of the yeasty cinnamon smell that had been left over from the cinnamon rolls, the room is now suffused with a spicy scent that tickles the back of his throat.

He knows that smell. Bucky smiles and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. Wanda’s book lays on the side table with a slim metal bookmark keeping her place. 

He stretches again once he’s on his feet, then starts for the kitchen. He slows for a second when he sees the gray overcast light outside, wondering if it’s going to rain.

He hesitates again where the carpet transitions to tile, because there she is. She’s wearing her pink headband, the one that she keeps in the kitchen junk drawer for when her hair is getting in the way enough to annoy her. The rest of her dark locks are in a tight bun, and she’s hunched over the taller of the kitchen counters, perched on the edge of the stool that’s usually stored in the pantry. 

Two pots are on the stovetop, one the pale green dutch oven that she makes soups and stews in. Bucky can tell by that familiar spicy pepper smell it contains one of his favorite dishes, the chipotle chicken and pumpkin soup that had been one of the first meals she’d offered him.

She reaches across the counter, practically crawling on top of it, to get the large knife she’d left near the sink. Now on her knees on the stool, she cuts a mound of dough into six equal wedges.

Blueberry scones. 

Bucky moves forward, intent on wrapping his arms around her now that he can. He opens his mouth to say something, so he won’t startle her, but just then she glances over her shoulder.

The dark stain of blueberry juice is bold against both cheeks, in little slashes that tell him what drove her to dig the headband out of the junk drawer. 

“Hey.” She sets the knife aside and straightens, rolling her head back on her neck before rotating both arms in a circle. “These have got to go in the freezer for a bit and this stuff is almost done. Ready for lunch?”

When Bucky wraps his arms around her, she relaxes back, putting all her weight on him. Her hands are covered in flour, fingertips stained blue, and she leaves them lax on the countertop as she tips her head back to rest on his shoulder.

“Have a good food coma?”  

“Mmm,” Bucky presses his lips to the side of her neck, “don’t think I can eat yet. How about a walk?”

“A walk to a coffee shop? Huh? Huh?” She nudges him with her elbows. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. But I like the way you think.”

He could be reading far too much into her easy manner. Certainly it’s possible it means too much to him, finally having her in his arms, free to kiss her and touch her. 

He’d left any struggles with modern dating behind. He might detest the ‘coffee date’ but he understood how it fit within the new structures of meeting people and the wider world of strangers. 

Back in the 30s taking a girl out meant a certain amount of trust had already been developed. You knew each other, or at least knew people the other person knew. You knew where they were from. Doing a girl wrong meant someone would be coming after you, banging on your mama’s door or waiting out back for your shift to end. 

There was a familiarity. And a lot more structure, which did make things a little easier in some ways. Bucky would take a girl out on Friday, and a different one out on Saturday. Maybe he’d see Friday night dancing with a pal from school on their own date. 

Now there’s all kinds of ambiguity. A date might begin and end in the coffee shop, or it might start at dinner and end at her place. A lady might be interested in someone to settle down with and move out to the suburbs, or she might want a good time in the sack. She might want both. 

Bucky had taken pretty easily to reading things - he didn’t find himself floundering often. With Darcy though, he’s been ass over teakettle. 

He clocks her every smile, gets lost in her eyes, and savors every touch all the while some part of his mind is dying to know what it  _ means _ . He files away the smallest details from her dislike of rhubarb to the amount of milk she likes in each of the varieties of tea in her cupboard, from which sweaters are her favorites for cozy Sundays to her favorite music. 

It’s how he knows to grab the bulky white sweater with the oversized wood buttons off the hook near the door. He holds it out for her and smooths the collar while she holds her hair out of the way. 

When she turns to face the door she holds her hand out between them, still slightly blue at the fingertips despite the scrubbing she’d given them.  

The commercial floors of the Tower are never completely empty. Stark Industries encourages flexible work schedules. But the weekends are always a bit slower. When Bucky used to do regular security checks he’d pass labs with only one person working steadily. It was his favorite, because those solitary workers often took advantage of their privacy. They’d wear whatever they pleased, they’d have music blaring, they’d bring their pets if it was safe to do so. 

Mara Curtwright in legal listens to Opera and has a friendly yellow cat. Rishabh Harkley watches animated cartoons while running product testing. Shanice Howards, the head of the research division, trades out her strictly professional garb for flowy dresses, bare feet, and some show about vampires while she catches up on reports in her office.

The lobby is mostly empty when they pass through. Half of the security team is distracted petting Camila Perez’s corgi. 

By now, security just waves them through, seeming to relish not having to grapple with Darcy. For her part, Darcy has stopped glaring as she passes their desk. Unless Beckett is there.

As soon as they step out onto the sidewalk, the windchill makes itself known. Darcy drops his hand and instead switches sides, so she can burrow under his flesh arm. She also digs two knit hats out of her purse. He is marginally sure the one she put on him has ears. She’s good, she’s had training, and manages to keep it mostly out of his sight bringing it up to his head, but he knows that look and that self-satisfied smirk. 

The next thing she digs out of that gigantic purse of hers is sunglasses. Hers are just loose among the jumble, his she produces in the little protective case they’d come with. 

“Ugh. Maybe there needs to be some Avenging closer to home,” Darcy steps over a pile of dog poop on the sidewalk. “I bet I could get Clint to track that asshole down.” 

“Probably.” Bucky says. There was little Clint wouldn’t do to finally earn Darcy and Jane’s forgiveness once and for all. Staking out this stretch of the sidewalk to find the culprit that continually left their dog’s bowel movements decorating the pavement is something Bucky can see happening. It would be pretty damn amusing too. “Are you gonna?”

Darcy looks over her shoulder and scowls. “Why not?”

“That’s the spirit.” 

“Hawkeye: Pet Doody,” Darcy says, then chuckles.

“You did not.” 

“I did. I’m not sorry.” She turns her face to kiss his hand where it rests on her shoulder, “And you’re not either. I told you earlier, you’re not fooling me. I know your every secret now, Barnes.” 

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“I do,” she flashes a grin at him, “you Abba loving, fancy-pants coffee addicted, dork with the sense of humor of a ten year old.”

Bucky pulls her closer so he can tighten his arm around her, giving him enough reach to cover her mouth. “Keep it down, will ya? You’ll ruin my rep.”

She pulls free. “I would never. Captain America would fight for your honor. I mean, I’m good, but I’m not on his level. Then you and Thor would have to step in for  _ my  _ honor, and then Steve would be fighting you for your honor and you’d be fighting him for my honor and I’d have to move to Vanaheim where I am pretty sure they don’t get  _ The Great British Bake Off  _ or  _ Stranger Things  _ and that’s no life for me.”

“So it was all big talk in the car with Jane when you said you’d go off exploring other realms, happy-go-lucky?”

“I’m not saying that, I’m just saying that there is possibly a limit to what even Thor can accomplish, and asking for GBBO, Netflix original series,  _ and  _ a decent coffee shop wherever I end up living in exile might be a bit much. Besides,” she nudges him with her elbow, “I just got my new place how I want it. This is the most unpacked I’ve been since I left for my internship, seven fucking years ago.”

“The closet in the third bedroom,” he says and she jabs him in the rib with her index finger and he corrects himself, “I’m sorry, in the  _ library _ , is full of boxes, doll.”

“And I’m telling you this is the most unpacked I’ve been in eight years,” she tells him as they come to a stop at a crosswalk. She edges in front of him as people crowd around, waiting for the light to change. 

Bucky rests his chin on her head and smiles when her hands find his.

He loves Sundays.


	27. Chapter 27

“No. Just no,” Darcy pulls Jane’s hand away from adjusting the monitors. She’d overslept, in the decided not to get out of bed kind of way. And now her brain is not in any kind of place for work. 

“What, Darcy, we neeee…….. Hello.” Jane stops trying to free her hand and turns fully to face Darcy. Her eyes flick back towards the screens twice, but finally focus on Darcy. “What’s up? Wait! Did you talk to Bucky?”

“I would have called out sick today, because my body is  _ tired _ , but then I would have just hung out with him all day and that would not have fixed the problem.”

“What I’m hearing is that we need to take a long lunch?”

“We need to take a half day, starting now.” Darcy confirms. Of course, in the past ‘a long lunch’’ would include coffee and a lazy, boozy lunch someplace. Getting away for a bit. Right now it would mean either bringing Thor or requesting security. And this really isn’t the kind of talk she wants Thor or a security agent involved in.

“We could… Order Gregarios?” Jane suggests, absentmindedly reaching over to dab at the corner of Darcy’s eye, where there is probably still smudged mascara. “I mean, I think Thor might be trying to build a patio table, but maybe I could tell him we need some time?”

Darcy grimaces. Thor is the most understanding ever, but she would still feel crappy kicking him out so she could talk to Jane alone. And Bucky is working on the transition between the kitchen and the living room in her apartment today. “Wait, we should just ask Wanda.”

“Wanda!” Jane snaps her fingers. “I was thinking about how Nat was out of town, and I didn’t even think of Wanda. How did we end up with  _ two  _ more friends?”

“We’re obviously cool kids now, with social skills and everything. Sometimes we’re nice to people.” Darcy pulls the magnetic mirror off the side of Jane’s work table and inspects her whole yesterday’s makeup situation. Can she convert the mess into a passable smoky eye?

“Well, that’s kind of a lot optimistic, but okay.” Jane dumps half a pop tart into the trash and starts shutting down her equipment. From what Darcy can see, it hadn’t been a productive day anyway. 

“I know,” Darcy frowns, poking at the slight puffiness under her eyes. Up all night to get Bucky had consequences. “But we do have the friends. Two of them.”

“Does Wanda admit that we’re friends yet?” Jane wonders. It’s a valid question. Wanda  _ had _ been pretty standoffish in the beginning, mostly keeping to herself. It was Nat who arranged the morning jogs.

“We’re friends whether she likes it or not,” Darcy says as she texts Wanda. “She doesn’t get a say.”

“You can see why I’m not buying the whole social skills and niceness thing.” Jane pulls out the bin that contains their back-up clothes, digging through the pile for comfier options. 

Darcy checks the weather on her phone, a depressing forty-two degrees, and advises more layers. 

Once Wanda joins them they take a cab, not wanting to have to park if they took a Stark car 

The driver’s effusive politeness stands in lurid contrast to her lead foot, they make their way through town pressed back against the back of their seats on acceleration or bobbing forward on braking. 

When they jolt to a stop outside Wanda’s preferred cafe, the cabbie turns in her seat to stare at Wanda scrutinizingly, popping her gum loudly.

“Anybody ever tell you you look like that girl that does the clarinet volcano show down at the casino?”

Wanda’s brittle but polite PR smile fades into one of baffled amusement, “No.”

“Guess that means you’re not her.” The cabbie folds her arms around her ample chest.

“No.” Wanda hands a few bills over.

The inside of the cafe is horrible. It just is. Uncomfortable little cafe chairs and nondescript tables that are always wobbly.

Its only redeeming quality - and the reason for Wanda’s preference - is the perfection of their French beignets. For dessert there are flaky crusts, rich crėme brulees, and the best miniature tortes. 

“I want to learn how to drive,” Wanda says when they sit down. 

Darcy grimaces, trying to find a comfortable position. She rests her elbow on the table and it wobbles to one side. 

“We’ll teach you,” Jane says instantly.

“I just think it’s something I should know how to do,” Wanda continues, and Jane nods. “Clint offered to teach me.”

“Pshhh,” Darcy rolls her eyes. “We taught Thor to drive. If that’s not a shining recommendation I don’t know what is.”

“That’s what I thought, but Steve says-”

“I am a  _ good driver! _ ” Jane declares, folding her menu shut forcefully.

“Does someone think you’re not?” Wanda asks uncertainly, looking from Jane to Darcy.

“What?” Jane looks flustered. Darcy hides a smile behind her menu, because Wanda is a bit of a troll, and no one ever suspects it of her. 

“Why do people think you’re a bad driver?” Wanda asks with wide eyes. “Did you kill someone?”

“What?” Jane huffs, “What did Steve tell you? I bumped him! Bumped! He was fine. Both times.”

“ _ Both times? _ ” Wanda asks worriedly, even bringing her hands up to her mouth. Which is too much and Jane catches on. 

“Woman, Darcy talked with Bucky and I need to know details!” Jane insists.  Wanda grins and Jane throws up her hands. “Games! I don’t have time for your games, Maximoff.”

Wanda bites her lip but turns to Darcy as well, making a motion with her hand for Darcy to proceed.

“We did the talking, and then we did the sex, and we’re really, really good at the sex and now I need sleep and a better stretching regimen but I can’t be trusted - if I go home he’s gonna be there and we’ll do the sex. Guaranteed.” 

“Must we call it ‘the sex’?” Wanda asks.

“Way to call me out,” Darcy flicks water from her glass at Wanda. “I’m not the best at talking about feelings, okay?”

“I can’t say I’m surprised. I mean Ravioli Night? The sexual tension was really obvious. But Thor and I did have a good time when we got home.” Jane nods to herself and pulls the martini the waiter had just dropped off closer.

“So is just ‘the sex’ or is also ‘the feelings’?” Wanda asks, then they all pause as the waiter arrives to take their orders. 

“When you say it like that it sounds ridiculous,” Darcy mutters once the waiter leaves. 

“Of course there are feelings, look at her.” Jane motions to Darcy’s face and Wanda’s eyes flick over her.

Darcy feels naked enough, getting ready to bare her soul this way. For just a second, she thinks of Wanda’s abilities, and how Darcy could have no secrets if Wanda set her mind to it. 

But Wanda is good people. She’d never given Darcy a reason to mistrust her, to feel exposed or outmatched. So Darcy shoves those thoughts away, feeling slightly guilty for having them in the first place.

Besides, it might be easier if Darcy could just open her mind to Wanda. Maybe the other woman could see something in the way Darcy’s feelings were tangled and interwoven, bound by the afternoon spent on her patio repotting houseplants with clods of dirt clinging to her fingers, and mornings sharing a pot of coffee and evenings edging closer to each other on the couch.

How she spends the day with him, and suddenly the words that are so hard with others, impossible even, they just come easily in between teaching him how to fry chicken or comparing paint samples in the library.

Bucky knows about the nightmares she still has about the Dark Elves, because she’d told him one night on the porch swing when they were snapping green beans. He talked too, when they were settled and things were easy. Like the words made just as much sense for him.

Darcy didn’t know how to explain that. 

“There are feelings,” Darcy admits, and Jane rolls her eyes at the anticlimactic end to the prolonged silence.

“Which you talked about,” Wanda adds helpfully.

“Not exactly,” Darcy starts, talking fast as both women react, “C’mon, guys. We made good progress here. Besides, it’s not like whole feelings topic is easy for us. Besides, Jane, you of all people can’t judge me.”

“Forgive me for wanting to spare you the pain and uncertainty Thor and I went through,” Jane points with a balsamic vinegar covered finger. “You were there, why would you want to go through that yourself?”

“I promise we’ll talk before either of us plan any off-world adventures, or visit any vengeful parents.” Darcy takes another sip of her gimlet, like that would give her strength.

“What are you afraid of?” Wanda asks, head tilted like they’re discussing a character from one of their books instead of Darcy’s own personal fucked up heart.

“All the normal things people worry about when they care about someone like this. What if I care more? What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if he does, but he changes his mind? And then with an extra helping of how much of his 30s mindset comes into play here? Does he even want a relationship right now? He’s got a hundred and one things going on, and most of them are pretty fucked up.” Darcy gulps a deep breath, ready to continue.

“You’re right,” Wanda says, “she does take trouble.”

“Borrow trouble,” Jane corrects, leaning forward and raising one eyebrow at Darcy, “Do you know what would help with most of those issues? Communication. And the rest? Like Bucky not feeling the same way? I’ve seen the way he looks at you, trust me, you’re not some kind of fling.”

“Even if that’s true, you and I both know that what someone wants and what they allow themselves to have are very different things,” Darcy points out.

“Millions of things could go wrong,” Wanda says hesitantly. “It doesn’t do to dwell on them. Especially when it comes to relationships, no matter how much it might hurt to lose someone.”

Well, fuck. 

“I’m sorry,” Wanda says in the new silence. “That was…”

“No, no.” Darcy shakes her head. “You’re right. That’s why I needed to talk. To get my head out of my ass.”

“She does.” Jane nods and laughs when Darcy tries to kick her under the table and misses, kicking the hard chair leg instead. Stupid Asgardian warrior training. “So, other than worrying about things you have no reason to worry about, everything is good?”

Darcy presses her toes against the floor under the table, trying to ease the pain. “It’s great. We’re doing all the things we had been doing, only better and with stellar sex. We have breakfast together to start the day, we usually go out for a walk and coffee at some point, we cuddle on the couch, and we have dinner together.”

“Sounds horrible,” Wanda says.

“Doomed, don’t you think?” Jane asks in a sad tone.

“Mmm,” Wanda nods, “Tragic, but what can you do?”

“You guys are assholes and I don’t know why you’re my friends.”


	28. Chapter 28

“Noooo,” Darcy groans, shifting her arm clumsily free of the cramped space between their bodies. “No more. Never again.”

“What? Wha’s wrong?” Bucky pushes up on one arm, his brain slowly kicking into gear. He just manages to stop himself before he fully extends his leg and kicks something off the end table. The sun is bright, reflecting off the glass building outside the glass patio doors and lighting the living room brightly. He catches her waving hand on the second try and begins to rub the muscles in her arm. 

“Pins and needles. It’s too fucking early for pins and needles, Bucky.” Darcy winces as she slowly moves into a sitting position. The worn quilt, dug from boxes labeled CULVER, falls the rest of the way to the floor. 

Switching from massaging the muscles, he sweeps his hand up and down her arm. 

“We’re not sleeping on the couch again. You’re just gonna come to bed with me.” She doesn’t wait for an answer. She stands, his fingers trailing over her skin as she walks away until he’s left with empty space.

She walks with the slightly heavier steps he’s learned in the mornings, when she’s just woken and she’s more scrunchy faced scowls than anything else. 

Bucky stretches as he stands, wincing as the pot she uses to boil water for coffee clangs against the stovetop. Is it morning clumsiness, or is she genuinely upset about spending another night on the couch?

In the kitchen Darcy is unclipping the top of the bag of coffee while she rolls her shoulders, obviously trying to work out a spot of tension. Her first attempt at measuring out the coffee results in a small overspill on the counter.

“Here,” Bucky reaches for the bag, “let me.” 

She lets him take it from her, again wordlessly walking away. She knocks over the tape covered box that had arrived from New Mexico yesterday, containing a brand new Hank.

She doesn’t look particularly angry. Shuffling away, one hand kneading at the muscles in her back. She  _ could  _ just be going to brush her teeth and find a sweater to pull on. 

He finishes measuring out the coffee, wipes up the spill, and then assembles the press. He knows he needs to figure out the sleeping thing. The couch? It’s not so bad for him, he’s slept in a hell of a lot worse places over the years. He could sleep with her on that couch for a year and be happy as a clam.

That’s obviously not the case for Darcy. His girl loves her bed. 

Besides, the point isn’t sleeping on the couch for a year. He gets her there. The point is not sleeping together, and he’s weak-willed enough that he stays too late and lets himself revel in her closeness and then he dozes off with her in his arms and a laugh-track playing from the TV. 

His fears about what could happen are just as valid on the couch as they are tucked away in her bed. 

She’d asked last night if he’d be more comfortable if they slept in his bed, and he’d barely held in a laugh. Sure, it’s a hell of a lot better now, but he’d spent more time sweating and twitching and waking in agony in that bed than sleeping in the beginning. 

If he’s going to wake up screaming, it’s more likely to happen in his bed. That would be bad enough, waking up with his voice hoarse, his jaw and teeth aching from clenching his mouth shut, the sheets damp with sweat and knotted around him, and her cautious and uneasy and possibly scared.

But what if she had a reason to be scared? What if he reacted badly to her presence? Steve had woken him plenty of times, but he’s Steve. Bucky knows his voice, down to his bones. The Soldier knew his voice.

Darcy? Darcy waking up, trying to help?

He has no way of knowing how that might end. 

The problem is he’s not willing to let her go. He’s just not. 

When he’d first come to the tower, he’d planned on getting cleared for duty and then watching Steve’s back. That’s it. Keeping the memories of the Soldier in check had been manageable, better than he’d hoped for, and he’d planned to put his energy into helping Steve. A life beyond that had been something for other people.

It turns out, on retrospection, that seeing Dr. Calderon had been a good idea.

The thing is, now he doesn’t just want a hobby and getting caught up on pop culture and some semblance of a life. He wants it all. 

He wants a life, just like he’d wanted before the war. The chance to build a home, the right girl, keeping a smile on her face, a couple of kids. Christ. And the enormity of that is terrifying. 

To admit he wants it means he can lose it. Again.

“Shit, Bucky,” Darcy brushes past him and transfers the rapidly boiling pot of water to a different burner and turns the flame off. “It’s fine, there’s still plenty of water.”

“Sorry.” Bucky steps further out of her way.

“S’fine,” she mutters, holding one hand out behind her as she pulls the press closer with the other.

Bucky looks down to see a toothbrush complete with toothpaste smeared across the bristles clutched in her hand. Her wrist still has the blue ribbon he’d tied around it from the package of chocolate covered espresso beans they’d split yesterday.

He takes the toothbrush and she puts the lid on the press. 

She moves over to the dining room table, where she’d dropped her purse and jacket last night, and retrieves her iPod, still not looking at him so he can gauge her mood. 

Minutes later he’s spitting a mouthful of spearmint foam into the sink and she’s pouring them both a mug of coffee. 

“Do the sugar,” she tosses over her shoulder as she crosses the kitchen for the milk. 

Bucky scoops little spoonfuls of sugar out of the strawberry sugar pot, then she adds the milk. 

He’s trying to think of what to say, how to start this, when she picks up her mug and turns into him, resting her forehead against his chest as she slurps at her coffee. Then she snuggles in with a sigh. 

“Drink some coffee, Buck,” she says into his chest, “and then let's figure out how we can fix this.”

She stays there, one arm wrapped around him, leaning against him as they both drink their coffee. Bucky holds her close and rests his chin on her head, swaying to one of his personal favorites, David Bowie. 

“Is this the kind of thing you tell me about, or… I don’t know. I want to help, and I definitely want to sleep in a bed with you.” 

“I have nightmares,” he says, even as he hates admitting it. Not because it makes him feel weak, but because there had been a time when the only problem he and his girl would have had would have been money. And he’d planned to figure a way to fix that, for him and Stevie both. 

Now he’s met a hell of a woman, and she’s getting the short end of the stick. 

“Do you have fewer nightmares on the couch?” she asks softly.

“No. I just tell myself I’m going to get up and go back to my own place. And then I don’t.” Bucky steps back from her, guilt flooding him again.

“I don’t mind the nightmares. That came out wrong,” she rolls her eyes at herself, “I meant, I would rather you didn’t have them, but I have nightmares too, you know? We can deal with them together.”

Bucky feels a sour smile take over his face. “I’m worried about what I might do, waking up and maybe not knowing who you are. I’m worried I might hurt you. The arm especially.”

“Oh.” She seems to deflate, but then she nods and picks right back up again, looking determined. “Have you had problems with that before?”

“Before? Like with Steve?”

“Like with other lady friends?”

“I never slept over.” Bucky rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken.

“But you do wake up violent?” she asks, bulldozing ahead, focusing on what she thinks is important. It’s one of his favorite things about her. And how steady she can be, like now, looking straight back at him like they can organize all of this into something that makes sense. It makes him feel like it’s actually possible.

“I used to.” Bucky drags his teeth over his lip, hard enough to hurt. “Or at least I woke up angry. I knew what I was doing though, if I threw something.”

“You had a nightmare two nights ago, do you remember?”

His stomach drops out. His mouth tastes of steel and he reaches unsteadily for the counter to brace himself as the room seems to tilt. 

“Nothing happened,” she says hurriedly, “Bucky, it was fine.”

“I don’t remember.”

“You probably didn’t wake up. That happens to me all the time.  _ Nothing  _ happened, Bucky.” She sets her coffee mug aside and walks closer, arms reaching tentatively for him. 

For a second, he thinks he shouldn’t touch her. But he’s already reaching for her hand, and then she’s wrapped around him again. Surely she wouldn’t hold him this way if he’d scared her? If he’d hurt her? His mind races over yesterday’s events, searching for any hesitance on her part, any hint of fear. 

But it had been a normal day. She’d had an early lab day, they’d woken on the couch to her phone alarm. She’d made a fast breakfast, English muffins with leftover sweet potato smeared on, topped with an egg.

He’d worked on wall papering one side of the hall, and had done some research on knocking out the cement wall separating their porches so she could have more space. Then she’d come up for lunch. They’d split leftover taco fixings, then had taken a walk to the coffee shop. She’d held his hand and demanded a stop at the pretzel stand.

“What happened? Tell me everything.” Bucky requests, his throat dry.

“You were flinching, and then you started making sounds. Saying no. I talked to you, uh, I touched you. Your arm, your face. You opened your eyes and looked at me. I said you were having a bad dream. You looked around and moved me to the inside edge of the couch and went back to sleep.” She squeezes him, “I mean, your eyes were open like thirty seconds tops. You probably didn’t wake up all the way.”

“That doesn’t really reassure me.”

“How about that you were the same when you touched me? Like you didn’t just flop me over like a bag of potatoes, you were gentle and careful. Even moved my hair out from under my head after you laid me down. Does that make you feel better?” She tips her head back to look up at him.

“I don’t know,” Bucky admits. “There’s no manual for this. I’m just sorry you have to deal with it.”

“Don’t. Don’t say things like that. Do you know how much  _ better  _ you make everything?” Her hands cups his cheeks. “ _ Everything. _ So what will make you feel better about this? Do you need to talk to Dr. Calderon? Should we go see Tony about your arm, see if there’s some kind of safety setting or something?”

It’s so tempting to believe her. To buy into the idea that she sees the man he only sometimes feels like - the guy that could get married, build a life. He’d make her feel like the luckiest lady in the world as often as he could.

He’s pretty sure the luckiest lady in the world didn’t have to worry about being able to trust her partner to not hurt her in his sleep.

“Bucky,” Darcy says, tone now insistent. “I have my shitty things that you’ll get to deal with. Promise. I mean, you didn’t get to meet Loki, and that dude is gonna be back at some point. Mark my words. And when he does, it’s usually trouble for the Thor adjacent. Last time, there was a giant incinerating robot.”

“You sayin’ you’ll help me with figurin’ out this and I’m on the hook for helpin’ you with alien artillery?” 

“You got it.” She bounces up and kisses the tip of his nose. “That’s how all of this works, you know? It’s too big for one person.That’s why Jane and Thor and I are a package deal. It’s why we haven’t locked Tony in the Hulk room permanently.”

“You’re something else, you know that?”

“Yes.” She flutters her eyelashes at him. “So what do you think? Will talking to Tony help?”

“Won’t know until we try it,” Bucky tells her honestly. It’s time to talk to the doc about Darcy, too. Maybe it will be strange, talkin’ about his girl like that, saying things he wouldn’t even tell Steve, but the doc has been right about enough things that Bucky knows it’ll help.

“It’s a plan then,” Darcy nods, turning away and starting towards the refrigerator. “I’ve got some leftover blueberry waffles frozen. Sound good?”


	29. Chapter 29

“Are you that nervous about talking to Tony? I mean, I know about  _ things _ .” Darcy makes a circle with her finger, then winces. Another point for Darcy’s tact. Alluding to the all kinds of messed up situation between Bucky and Tony with a finger wave. A-plus. Awesome job with the feelings.

Bucky tracks her finger as she lowers it and his eyes don’t meet hers until she jams her hand into her pocket. It only goes about halfway in. Damn clothing manufacturers and shitty fake pockets. Like women don’t need to put things in their pockets, like snacks and wrenches and offending fingers.

The patriarchy has been fucking up her life for decades.

“Of course you know about that,” Bucky says, elbowing her hard enough to have her bumbling a step over. 

“The more you know and all that.” Darcy plants her feet and shoves him. He doesn’t budge an inch and smirks down at her. The elevator doors slide open and they step on. Back in the lab, Jane is already back to welding.

“I’m really gonna have to get to work on those prison break plans, aren’t I?”

“Definitely. I mean, Thor’s had this on lockdown for years. And now I’m pretty sure Clint’s got something in the works since Thor told him I usually make whoever gives me an assist on the whole breaking out of the slammer thing a thank you dinner.”

“They got nothin’ on me,” Bucky assures her with a wink. “And Tony and I are okay. About as okay as I could hope given the reality of our situation. Better than I could hope.”

“So if it’s not Tony, what’s up, grumpy bear?” She gives him an extra wide smile when he snarls and reaches up to tweak his cheek. “What turned that smile upside down?”

He snaps his teeth at her fingers. “Steve’s just bein’ a punk, that’s all.” 

“I’ve heard that about Captain America.” Darcy nods. “Can’t trust the guy.”

“He’s a punk, trust me.” Bucky leans back against the wall of the elevator. Darcy shuffles a step closer and leans against him. “He’s been needlin’ me on the phone. Now he’s comin’ up here to stick his nose in.” 

“It’s almost like he’s known worldwide for being stubborn or something,” Darcy comments, and tips her head back to see she’s earned a small, begrudging smile. 

“Dr. Calderon thinks we need space because we’re angry at each other and we don’t know it.” 

“Well, I’m not touching  _ that  _ with a ten foot pole.” He pokes her in the side. “What? My degrees are in political science, astrophysics and mechanical engineering. I could maybe help you with the arm, but the epic bromance of the century?”

“Bromance.” 

“Don’t even, you guys are so bromantical it’s not even funny. He started a war for you, becoming an international fugitive, and that’s just in this century.” Darcy smiles, because she knows he’s gonna like this. “There are totally ballads about you guys in Asgard.” 

“There are not.” 

“Are too.”

He leans forward to look at her, eyes narrowed. Then they widen and he drops his head back. “Jesus fuck.”

“It’s kind of funny, you have to admit.” Darcy pokes him in the neck when he doesn’t respond. Then again. The third time he catches her hand without looking. The jerk. “And pretty cool.”

“Aliens.” He finally looks at her again. “Singing about me in space.”

“They sing about me, and I think it’s  _ awesome _ .” Darcy pulls her hand free. “Besides, for what it’s worth, it does seem like you might have some issues what with you getting all scowly over getting to see your best friend again.”

“That’s nothin’.” They’ve reached Tony’s penthouse, FRIDAY keeps the doors closed. The elevator doors only open once someone makes a move towards them, rather than when they arrive at their floor. Jane had told Darcy that this is technically what once should have been Tony’s ‘office time’. Pepper is a smart woman, and seems to have accepted it as ‘no lab time’ with grace. “Punk is keepin’ things from me. Acts like I don’t know how to use the internet and see him jumping out of eighth story windows and havin’ Maximoff throw him through plate glass when there’s a goddamn door.” 

“Now I’m feeling the urge to make Avengers bingo cards. We could have extraneous explosions, Thor ‘accidentally’ getting Tony with lightning, Natasha and Clint making things unnecessarily complicated with their toys. I mean, how many times is it really imperative that Natasha gets dropped out of the quinjet on her motorcycle? And boomerang arrows? Seriously?”

Bucky motions to her. “Exactly. It made sense when I thought Steve made his own team, but someone, somewhere, actually put some thought into this and put all of them together?” 

“From what I understand, it was mostly spearheaded by Fury.”

Bucky pauses and tilts his head. “I think that takes care of any residual guilt I feel for trying to kill him.”

Darcy gives him a thumbs up. “So you’re pissed at Steve for being a reckless idiot. That I can understand.”

“Eh, I’m used to that. Been that way since he was a kid. Just wish the doc would give me the okay to be out there with him, so I could do him a favor and knock him out when he needs it.”

“So you are or aren’t mad at him?” Darcy asks, glancing down to see what the alert had been on her phone. New class schedule, sweet.  “Also, how does Furniture Reupholstery 101 sound tomorrow afternoon? It’s held in that shop next to the place with the really good meatball subs.” 

“Sounds good.” Bucky glances at her phone when she holds it up for him. “And he’s just annoying me. Suddenly he thinks he can lie to me? He’s down there living with Wilson, saying he’s not ready to date, but I got eyes, don’t I? I know what Stevie looks like when he’s gone on someone.”

“Gone on someone? Wait, he’s gone on Wilson, you mean?” Darcy feels her brows ratchet up. “Wow. That’s gonna be a shitstorm with the Captain America stands for traditional values crowd.”

“Lucky for Steve, he’s never cared what anyone else thought.” 

“Wait, wait, wait. Your therapist thinks you and Steve have some deep resentment against each other, and you’re just pissed he’s playing his cards close to the vest?”

“We don’t lie to each other. He’s letting all this shit with the doc screw him up. And if he’s not tellin’ me? He’s probably halfway in denial himself.” Bucky shakes his head. “I’m tellin’ you, he’s a punk.” 

“I guess I’ll believe you.” Darcy barely makes half a motion towards the doors and they slide open. Tony’s tech is awesome, which means it’s right at that line where sometimes it’s kind of freaky. 

“Gee, thanks.” Bucky says, and he may be looking over her head to check the corners of the penthouse, but he’s still in that playful mood that turns Darcy to mush. Absolute mush. He can never know.

“I mean,” Darcy shrugs her shoulders, spotting Tony out on the gigantic patio. The thing is large enough to host a gala. Darcy smashes down her patio envy, because they’re here for Bucky and not her personal jungle dreams. She turns back to face Bucky and he’s looking at her with a quirked brow and lips that are tipped up at the corners, waiting for whatever she’s going to say next. “I heard you have memory problems. Probably you were the troublemaker, and Steve was the reasonable one.”

“Memory problems, huh? That’s what you’re going with.”

Darcy shrugs, turning away to hide the smile she can’t hold back.

“I guess Steve’s middle name  _ is  _ Reasonable. Steven ‘Reasonable’ Rogers.”

“Bless your heart, everyone knows Steve’s middle name is America.” Darcy would maybe be embarrassed of the giggle that escapes when he scrubs a hand over her hair, if it didn’t make him look half so pleased. “You’re so lucky you have me to helpmphh-”

He cuts her off with a kiss, the hand that had tousled her hair now gently tipping her face up to him. 

“Rude.” 

“I am lucky,” he says as he gently smooths her hair, tucking it behind her ears.

“Less rude.”

“I told Pepper FRIDAY was being oddly cagey about you two.” Tony strolls across the living room, making an imperious motion, “No, no, continue.”

Darcy steps away from Bucky, the warm fuzzies chased away by the intrusion of the outside world. Both because Tony is a reminder of why she’s here, to support Bucky as he talks about a real problem, and because like a wet blanket, Tony is a reminder that outside of the the bubble she and Bucky have created, they’re actually nothing.

What is Tony thinking right now?  That Darcy is one of Bucky’s passing fancies? Or that she brought out Bucky’s old school Brooklyn boy side, and they’re going steady?

Ugh, why is she letting what Tony thinks take up space in her brain? That’s valuable fucking real estate. 

Bucky hasn’t turned to face Tony. Darcy nods her head towards the other man. 

“You’re here for one of two reasons. One, you’re finally going to let me look at the arm. Likely because something is wrong. Is it sex stuff? I hope it’s sex stuff. Two, Foster’s lying, I didn’t touch it and frankly I think bringing the Manchurian muscle was a little much.”

“You think I can’t see in your quivering goatee and beady little eyes that you’re lying?” Darcy asks, raising her chin to look down her nose at Tony. He hates that. “Revenge will be swift, justified, and Pepper approved. Now, focus.”

“Focus? Focus on what?” Tony’s eyes skitter over both of them.

“My arm,” Bucky says, thankfully quickly before Tony can pick out something himself.

“Finally, I’ve got some things ready to go down in the lab, and if Steve can tap his feline friend for some vibranium we can really crack that thing open.” 

Crack that thing open? Really, Tony?

“I need some kind of safety setting.” Bucky shifts. “It’s a problem for me. I could use your help.”

Both of Tony’s brows raise at Bucky’s bluntly emotional appeal. “Okay. I knew it was a sex thing.”

“It’s not a sex thing, you complete man baby,” Darcy groans.

“Sounds like someone skipped lunch. Want some blueberries?” 

Darcy would like to ignore the cup of berries he holds out, but she actually is pretty hungry. She’s not like Jane, she’s always needed regular snacks and meals. Hanger is a thing. 

“Anyway, it’s good you’re both here. We’ve got a lead on the AIM cell, and I’ve got an email officially releasing Barnes here for limited duty.” Tony shakes the blueberry cup at Darcy. She grabs a second handful. “Clint and Wanda are already assigned, with Thor as back up because he insisted. I’m thinking Wanda and Clint could use you, if you’re up for it.”

“Tell me when and where.”

“Tomorrow. FRIDAY will get you the details.” Tony motions for them to follow him. “Now, what are we looking at here?”

“We need a safe word,” Bucky says.

And then he has the audacity to wink at her.


	30. Chapter 30

Darcy is an idiot.

She’s been an idiot ever since she pretended to still be sleeping as Bucky slipped out of her bed this morning, still feeling laid bare by the the night before. 

She’d run her hands over his skin, and pressed her lips reverentially every place her fingers had trailed. She’d left lingering kisses to his forehead, like somehow she could imbue some kind of protection. 

It had been intense. Her worry about his first mission, the sincerity of her desire for it to go well for him, had stripped away her sense of self protection. 

He deserves a success. He wants so badly to get back in the field, to make a difference. Darcy is sure there’s a lot tied up in that, a lot of his sense of self worth, a lot of guilt, but she also feels pretty confident there’s a lot of James Buchanan Barnes, son of Brooklyn, partner in crime to little Steve Rogers in it too. 

After exposing all of the feelings she’s tried so hard to keep under wraps, and not trusting herself to do it again if she got up to see him off, she’d turned her face into her pillow as he quietly moved around this morning. 

She’d regulated her breathing like Hogun had taught her for knife throwing, and hadn’t responded when his hand brushed over her shoulder. 

Motionless, breathing evenly, she’d laid there for several minutes, listening carefully, until finally she’d rolled over, eyes cracked like she was still half asleep, to see an empty room.

Did she let the crushing disappointment that he was gone power her out of bed and to his apartment to wish him good luck? 

No, of course she didn’t. She paced back and forth, and got into the shower because that would take up at least twenty minutes, listened to music extra loud while she ate breakfast alone, and then realized he was definitely gone, and then cursed her idiot self.

She’s not  _ that  _ worried, she convinced herself. Because if she was  _ that  _ worried, she’d have some serious problems. Bucky is her neighbor. They’re having a fling. Hate sex, but without the hate? 

It’s a thing.

And since she wasn’t that worried, it really pissed her off when she forgot to add the water to the coffee maker in the lab, and when she cleared the wrong data set and had to recover the files. 

It just wasn’t the time to have one of those days. A shitty coincidence that she couldn’t seem to do anything right, tripping over her stupid chair three separate times until she shoved it across the room, and knocking over the cup of coffee she finally managed to brew, and misreading the same line of measurements of gravitational pull twice. 

It’s not until she’s lingering outside Tony’s lab that she admits to herself that she’s got a problem. And it’s not just if Tony will think she’s got a right to updates about how Bucky is doing, or if she should have tried to hack SHIELD. 

Yes. Mistake.

Explaining something she hasn’t quite figured out herself to Tony? Except she has figured it out and just doesn’t want to own up to it yet? 

Tony?

Mistake.

“FRIDAY, nevermind, take-” Darcy cuts off as the elevator doors open. She can’t stop her eyes from finding Tony, standing in front of a wall of holographic screens. He looks tense. 

Steve is on one of the screens, wearing a t-shirt and a serious expression. 

“Darcy, you’re a bit early, but we can just have a drink with lunch, yes?” Pepper steps into view, tapping quickly on her phone before she drops it into her purse.

“What?”

The woman with a doctorate and fancy letters after her name, everyone.

“Jane told me you needed a partner for a reupholstery class, and that lunch was going to be at Salty Dog Subs. I love their meatball, and I’ve always wanted to take a furniture upholstery class. My grandmother had her own business, and raised a family of seven on it. She died when I was four, so I only have the vaguest memories of her workshop.”

Darcy just barely manages to stop herself from saying ‘what’ again.  _ Jane _ . 

Pepper smiles as she steps onto the elevator, the doors closing swiftly behind her. The screens disappear from view, blueprints that mean nothing to Darcy, a camera feed of a busy intersection, and Steve leaning forward, a line between his brows.

“They’re still enroute, and everything appears to be going to plan.” Pepper reports. “Dr. Calderon is receiving a redacted feed of Bucky’s communications, on a ten second delay.”

The swirl of embarrassment and anger resulting from being shut out,  _ dealt with _ , slows. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because being on this side of it is hard. We all deal with it in our own way. At root though, is staying busy. You’ve seen Jane in her lab when Thor is in danger.”

Yes. Darcy has seen Jane in the lab during particularly uncertain missions, or tense meetings on Asgard. The woman is useless, her touch for seeing promising leads or filtering data completely gone so that she’ll spend hours on a string of numbers that she’d normally identify as an anomaly in minutes. But she keeps working, hours into the night, almost feverishly focused.

Darcy absently wonders what Pepper does. Darcy can’t imagine her making mistakes and blundering through them, only to spend the next day repairing the damage. 

She wonders if that deep line between Steve’s eyes is a bad sign. 

She wonders when she started calling him Steve in her head. 

Probably over avocado smeared bagels and orange juice with Bucky, while she searched under the armchair for her other shoe and he asked her to make up her mind between jasmine nights green and mossy lagoon blue for the bathroom walls. 

Darcy clearly remembers telling Jane that she’s through with tortured. That had been her problem. Terrible taste in men. They had to be aloof, mysterious, with a past they didn’t want to talk about. Or at least a really nice accent. 

But she’d been burned for the last time, she’d sworn, clutching a neon blue margarita. She was sticking to guys with parents to meet, standing Monday night football plans with their annoying friends, and boring jobs.

And now look at her. 

Pepper, she’s in a league of her own. With a small amount of pressure on Darcy’s elbow, and mere looks given to the security desk, she’s got Darcy across the lobby floor, onto the sidewalk where an icy wind cuts through the loose weave of Darcy’s sweater, and tucked inside a cushy Stark car. 

“Wait. You want to go to a furniture reupholstery class with me?” 

“I do. I also think it would be good for you to get out of the Tower, because I’ve been where you are.” Pepper’s expression stops Darcy from scoffing. Blue grey eyes hold hers steady and full of truth. 

Darcy, for the first time, thinks of when Pepper was Tony’s assistant in a way having to do with personal growth and feelings and going home at the end of the day instead of the juggernaut story the magazines and business profiles like to fawn over. 

By the time Darcy had arrived at the Tower, buried in the task of completing her thesis and easing Jane’s anxiety about moving their equipment, Pepper was already Pepper Potts, CEO and Tony’s sun, moon, and stars. But that hadn’t always been the case. Darcy can remember when the front pages of newspapers and magazines alike were freaking out over Tony Stark signing his business over to his girlfriend assistant.

Darcy doesn’t know Pepper very well, but she does know enough about the woman to know that Pepper wouldn’t have started dating her employer on a whim. Feelings must have developed, probably against the other woman’s will. Feelings that she had to deal with when she was just the assistant, and Iron Man was out there on his own.

“I’m an idiot,” Darcy confesses, finally releasing the words that had been running on loop, a constant refrain, in her head. 

“No you’re not,” Pepper says firmly. “You are an incredibly intelligent, accomplished woman with a beautiful heart that makes you kind, loyal, sensitive, and so very important to the jumbled patchwork family we’ve become.”

“Later in the privacy of my own room I might cry,” Darcy swallows past the knot in her throat, “but right now I’m just feeling kind of like I’m having an allergic reaction.”

“Thor told me you did not grow up expressing your feelings honestly or verbally, but I felt it needed to be said.” Pepper still manages to look perfectly unruffled in a pair of jeans and a baggy sweater. “Now, that isn’t to say I don’t understand why you feel that way. People feel that way in all kinds of relationships, not just ones that are complicated by abduction attempts, aliens, cryostasis, PTSD, and any number of other things that come part and parcel with the lives we lead.”

“So we’re going to a furniture upholstery class?”

“Yes. A boozy lunch, and then something to keep us busy. Plus, I heard you have a jogging and donuts club, and this seemed like a good way to finagle an invite.” Pepper looks back at Darcy with something indefinable in her expression.

Darcy doesn’t feel like she’s looking at the business woman that runs the world, or the untouchable woman who is one half of the most rockin’ power couple outside of Beyonce and Jay Z. 

Right now, she doesn’t feel like she’s being managed anymore. 

“Anyway, Happy here will get us back to the tower the second we receive word that the quinjet is headed back,” Pepper continues, like Darcy hadn’t dropped the conversational ball right there, some of that world-famous tact coming into play and quickly smothering the fact that Darcy had let the inquiry into a jogging invite sail right on by.

“Thank you, Pepper.” Darcy wiggles her fingers and does a quick shoulder shimmy, trying to rid herself of the heavy feeling that had cloaked her since she let Bucky walk out the door this morning. “And we’d be happy to have you join us, we need all of the donut lovers we can get to stand up to Nat when she gets back.”

“I heard they have some kind of strawberry rhubarb-filled vanilla bean donut. I’ve always loved strawberry rhubarb.” Pepper smiles, a smaller smile than Darcy is used to seeing, slightly crooked in a way that emphasizes a particularly dense cluster of freckles around a dimple on the right side of her mouth.

Pepper Potts has a dimple. 

Pepper Potts’ real smile is adorable. 

Darcy wonders how many people get to see it. There have been enough life stories of Pepper published that Darcy knows Pepper’s absentee father died five years ago of a heart attack, and her mother had been a lifelong smoker, leading to her death of lung cancer at age 64, leaving behind her only child. Family-wise, Pepper has Tony. 

Which makes Darcy think about what it must be like, seeing that red and gold suit take off, or streak through the air on the news. 

Here Darcy is, crawling out of her skin thinking about Bucky out there, and he’s what? Her fuck buddy/neighbor/friend? Even if her stupid heart is telling her he’s more than that, Pepper and Tony are legit. Neither are holding the other at arm's-length to preserve any self-protection. That’s half of Pepper’s heart out there, deflection missiles and getting bashed around like an ostentatious pinball. 

“Thank you, Pepper,” Darcy says around the knot in her throat. “For doing this.”


	31. Chapter 31

Thor had FRIDAY bring up Jane on a holographic screen once Bucky was done talking with Dr. Calderon.

The call had been mandated, and he’d taken it in the back for what little privacy there was to be found on the quinjet. Bucky had expected to find it frustrating and a waste of time, but as he punched in the doc’s number, he found himself thankful for the firm endcap to the mission.

Nerves that had been easy to funnel into adrenaline now had no place to go leaving him jittery, his mind buzzing. Questions insistently flashed, returning as quickly as they were banished. Was the calm he’d felt the times he’d raised his gun the sniper he’d been, or the Soldier? Had it been easy to keep the nothingness from overtaking him because he’d been so determined to end the attacks against Darcy? Would he slip on another mission, one that wasn’t so personal?  _ Could  _ he slip? Or is he who he is now? He is the Soldier? Is that the identity that Dr. Calderon says he needs to find and take ownership of? Or at least part of it?

Talking with the doc made it easier to stop the endless loop of questions and feel more settled. Present. Himself. 

He can lean back in his seat as the lab flashes up on Thor’s screen. Jane is half inside one of the simulators, scribbling on her arm with a black marker. Bucky sees Jane’s handwriting on Darcy’s skin just as often as Darcy’s. 

He scans the lab, searching for his girl. 

“You need a bandaid.” Jane says bluntly, bringing Bucky’s eyes back to her.

She’s hunched over, walking across a desk that has been pushed under the jacked up simulator, but still manages to pin Thor with a searching look. 

“Aye,” Thor gently touches a short cut over his eyebrow. 

“So do I,” Jane admits on a soft sigh. 

Bucky remembers Darcy telling him that Jane and Thor usually go to the medical floors together after missions, if everything has gone well enough that Thor only needs minor treatment. Apparently Jane is a walking accident in the labs while Thor is on mission, but refuses to leave the distraction her work provides.

Did Darcy worry? Leaving her this morning, her body twisted in pale green sheets, he’d wanted to kiss her again, to smooth the dark tangle of her hair back from her face. Even though it wouldn’t have flown with her, he’d wanted to promise to find the people responsible for the attacks and threats and end it. 

There’s no trace of her in the parts of the lab he can see. 

“Hi Bucky,” Jane says. She’s standing on the floor now. She’s got three haphazardly applied bandages on her left arm, overlapping and seeping blood. Three fingers of her right hand are wrapped in gauze. “Are you hurt?”

Her words had been slow, stilted. All the things she didn’t ask hovered over the air space, just as if she’d voiced them.

“Barely a scratch,” he said, mostly the truth. He’d taken a hit to the ribs, and they were pretty sore but already healing. Getting bandaged up would be more trouble than it was worth, he’d be good as new by morning. 

“Darcy and Pepper went to that chair thing, but FRIDAY said they’re headed back.” Jane reveals.

“Chair thing? The reupholstery class.” He’d forgotten, once Tony had floated the idea of him going back into the field. “With Pepper?”

Darcy and Pepper weren’t friendly. As far as Bucky knew, Pepper wasn’t friendly with any of the Tower residents other than, of course, Tony. She’d seemed both welcoming and distant when Bucky had met her. 

“Uh, yeah,” Jane is working her away around the lab, FRIDAY switching cameras to keep her in view as she shuts down in anticipation of Thor’s arrival. “I asked FRIDAY to find someone to go with her because I needed to get things done here.”

“Approaching,” Clint says over his shoulder. The landing will be nothing like the ones Bucky had known during the war, when the bolts would damn near shake free of the walls and his teeth would snap together if he didn’t hold his jaw shut. 

“Approaching?” Jane looks around the lab and picks up speed.

Bucky moves closer to the cockpit and Clint. Darcy isn’t in the lab, and he should give Thor and Jane their privacy. Also, the few times he’d ridden in the quinjet someone had always moved to the co-pilot’s seat during landings, usually Natasha.

When he reaches the empty seat, he finds it not quite empty. Wanda is curled up there, a headset over her ears and her boots kicked off. She looks like Darcy does, at the end of a long day, in the corner of the couch and waiting for Bucky to fix her a plate.

It makes him take a closer look, and he sees her hands in her lap, partially obscured by the fabric folds of her suit. She’s rubbing the left one, her thumb digging into the meat of her palm before moving on to gently move the knuckles. The skin appears unblemished, no scrapes, no bruising.

Bucky isn’t sure exactly what makes him hold out his hand. Some memory of before, when he wouldn’t have hesitated. A halting conversation with Darcy when she hadn’t come right out and said it, loyalty to her burgeoning friendship with this woman stilling her tongue while they shared a bottle of wine on the patio, but he understood that post missions were hard for Wanda. 

He knew of Pietro, from both the background information he’d received on all the team members and also from footage from the battle of Sokovia. 

Either way, his hand is there before he second guesses himself, and she looks up in surprise and confusion. 

It’s never the big moments that make him feel like he’s really back. Right and wrong, those are easy, especially when he’s got Steve. Even if he didn’t have some kind of guiding light telling him to pick up his guns, to strap on his gear and wade into the fight, he’d follow Steve there because that’s one truth that isn’t ever gonna change. 

Slowly, it’s been moments like this that brick by brick shore him up, convince him that it’s all real, that he’s James Buchanan Barnes and that means something.

Little half-second decisions, like right now, when it flickers in his mind that she might not trust the Soldier, that he’s still learning his way in the future, that there are a hundred reasons for her to keep her distance, and instead he decides he knows that she can trust him, that he’s willing to bear the rejection if it means she knows he tried and she’s not alone because he’s got a big, strong heart that his mother always said was his greatest strength and he can take it.

After a second of staring back at him, she places her hand in his. It almost looks frail - she has long, slender fingers and very narrow wrists. But he can feel the strength, and he’s seen her fight. 

As they watch the landing platform of the Tower get closer, he repeats the motions he’d seen her making, pressing his thumb into the heel of the hand, then massaging the muscles that lead to each knuckle. He finds a knot, a tense spot, between her index finger and thumb and focuses on that as Clint brings them in for landing. 

“Thank you, Bucky. I pulled something, I think,” Wanda murmurs, her fingers fluttering for a second.

“In your  _ hand _ ?” Clint asks his disbelief evident, along with a thread of mischief, in his voice. “I guess we’ve been wrong all this time and your dance parties  _ are  _ dangerous.”

Wanda rolls her eyes, but her lips curve into a small smile. 

Clint has a habit of picking up strays, it seems. First Natasha, then Wanda, and finally Bucky. He’s a good guy, a good friend. 

Bucky takes a deep breath as the quinjet touches down, feeling his chest expand fully. Damn Dr. Calderon, with all her hoops to jump through and thought exercises and behavioral therapies. 

Damn her, but hell if he doesn’t finally feel solid again. 

A part of him wants to keep it himself, and never admit it to her. The part of him that clearly remembers all of those hard appointments, all the times she looked at him knowingly when he was being stubborn or petty or purposefully dense. The early days when he was sure it was him vs her, and the harder ones when he realized it was him and her vs part of him (and not the part he’d thought, not the Winter Soldier).

But he spies Darcy leaning against the wall near the door as the platform retracts, bringing them into the hangar. And he knows he’s telling Dr. Calderon everything, she deserves it, because look at where he is now. 

Darcy straightens slightly, watching as the quinjet comes closer. He waves, like an idiot.

A quick check shows ill-hidden smirks on both Wanda and Clint’s faces. 

Before Bucky can say anything, Thor clamps a heavy hand on his shoulder. Darcy had told him that Thor was glad for Bucky’s friendship because his friendships back on Asgard were physically affectionate and that kind of thing had gone out of style between men sometime in the fifties and had been reserved for romantic relationships between men and women. Indeed, there had been more than one tabloid article published since Bucky had come to the tower about Darcy and Thor’s secret love affair, and Jane’s resulting heartbreak, due to photographs taken of Darcy and Thor out in the city.

“Friends! Don’t forget about coming to dinner this eve,” Thor notices Darcy and waves.

Clint and Wanda snort, then both raises their hands in a wave as well. 

Darcy looks confused as she slowly raises her hand to wave back.

“You guys are all assholes,” Bucky says.

“As are you,” Thor replies, draping his arm around Bucky’s shoulder and pulling Bucky against his side. 

Thor still doesn’t quite get insults and friendly insults. Darcy and Jane had tried to explain, but the result had been that Thor now responded to all insults between friends as coded confessions of love and loyalty. 

Bucky can’t help but smile at what his life has become.


	32. Chapter 32

She’s sweating. Why had they  _ all  _ waved at her. Wanda and Clint definitely had  _ a look _ when they did. 

She shouldn’t have come up here to wait for him. Neighbors with benefits didn’t do this. 

Drinks, and talking with Pepper had done this. Pepper had acted like Bucky and Darcy were something real - and Darcy’s heart had gone right along with her.

And now here she is, sticking out like a sore thumb, standing in the hangar in front of all of them waiting for Bucky. He’d given her an awkward wave, and she’d started kicking herself, wondering if she could make up some kind of excuse for her presence. Like she needed to steal part of the hydraulic system, and it was just coincidence that they arrived back at the same time. 

From a mission? Oh, was that today? Yep, just need this here thingy. 

And then Clint and Wanda had waved, this weird look on their faces. 

She’s a fucking idiot. 

Her fingers suddenly tingle, a thousand tiny pinpricks bursting over her skin, and she slowly unclenches her fists. A glance down at her palms finds four tiny half moons left by her nails on the heel of each hand. 

“Hello, sister,” Thor wraps her in a one armed hug, his large hand coming up to gently cup the back of her head as he presses a kiss to her cheek. “You’re coming to dinner right?”

“Dinner?” she asks after him, but he’s already through the door.

“Honey, I’m home.” Clint leans into her, putting her off balance, then swiftly dips her, smacking a loud, sloppy kiss somewhere between her temple and her cheekbone. She clutches at him, off balance and not trusting his grip. 

As he swings her back onto her feet, some part of her notes the ways he’s different than the arms, shoulders and waist her arms have grown used to. Clint’s waist and hips are more narrow, his shoulders more broad, and his arms are shorter and bigger. 

“It would be weird if I didn’t?” Wanda sounds a little apologetic as she swoops in. 

Oh sweet Frigga, were they teasing Bucky about Darcy waiting for him? Were they making a big deal about something she absolutely did not, under any circumstances, want to seem like a big deal? 

“Ignore them.” Bucky’s voice is gruff as he brings up the rear, a rifle of some sort strapped to his back and more than a few knives strapped to his front. He’s all in black, with his metal arm left exposed. 

His eyes are the same though, warm and blue and intent on her. 

“Are you ignoring them?” Darcy drums her fingers against her thigh. She hopes he’s ignoring them and not reading anything into her presence here. 

“With you standin’ in front of me, lookin’ like this? Course I’m ignoring them, Sunshine.” 

“Oh, you like this?” Darcy looks down at her baggy t-shirt, selected for lab wear but then put through the paces of first meatball subs with Pepper and then furniture reupholstery. They had probably been a bit tipsier than would be recommended for that class, and Darcy’s red-sauce stained shirt is proof. “Ooooh, look at that forty year old chair stuffing lint. Sexy.”

“Mmmm,” Bucky puts one hand on her hip, stepping close. He plucks at the front of her shirt, “and what’s this?”

“That? That’s Salty Dog red sauce, big boy.” 

“No, that’s over here.” 

Darcy looks down, squishing her boob out of the way to see. “Looks like it’s your lucky day, you get bonus Mango Rum Runner slush. How are you even controlling yourself?”

She uses her sultriest voice, and looks up at him seductively.

“You got me just about at the end of my rope.” Bucky walks her backwards until her shoulder blades his the wall. “Does that meatball trail go over your shoulder?”

“You know it.” Darcy’s lips quiver, fighting the smile that wants to take over.

Bucky has no such problem, he’s smiling as he steps even closer. It’s not fair that he can look turned on and sexy while smiling like that. How’s a lady supposed to keep her head and heart in the right places? 

“Don’t mind me,” Tony’s voice interrupts Darcy’s plan to figure out how to get Bucky out of that uniform. “Please, carry on. I’m a nobody, just making sure no one dies and everything works. Please, please, no need for thanks, adoration, flowers.”

“You’re telling me you make the quinjet go in the sky?” Bucky asks, winking at Darcy. He drapes his arms around her, one loosely over her shoulders and the other around her hips. The closeness is calming after all of her worrying and she tries to soak it up without being obvious.

“Can it, Barnes.”

“Thank you, Tony, I don’t know what we’d do without you,” Bucky calls loudly as he turns, bringing Darcy with him. 

“All of the adoration,” Darcy promises.

“Be on the lookout for those flowers,” Bucky says on their way out of the hangar.

“They better be nice ones!” Tony yells after them. 

“What’s that flower that blooms once a year and smells really bad?” Bucky asks, raising one arm in a wave acknowledging Tony.

“Corpse flower. FRIDAY?” Darcy tries to wrap her arm around Bucky’s waist, but there’s a row of round things that may or may not be some kind of grenades, a giant knife hand, and the small matter of the various guns strapped to him. 

“You are correct.” 

Darcy scowls at the nearest camera as Bucky twists, catching her hand and bringing around him. The butt of a gun nudges her forearm and her wrist rests on a knife holster. 

“I meant, can you find one we can buy? And keep Tony from finding out?” Sometimes FRIDAY’s limitations were frustrating. But, at least she didn’t try to take over the world. 

There is a pause, which Darcy has learned means that Pepper is being consulted.

“Of course. The flower will, of course, be delivered to the lab.” FRIDAY answers.

“Of course.” Darcy agrees. Pepper’s the best. “So what was up with everybody back there?”

“Back there?” Bucky repeats as he pushes her door open. The spicy scent of the chili she’d started in her crockpot earlier rushes out at them. “Did you cook?”

“Yes, I cooked, and yes, back there.”

“We’re heading to Thor and Jane’s. Apparently he’s got a small home repair issue in their bathroom. We were gonna order in.”

“You know that the small issue is not in anyway small, right? Thor does nothing in a small way.” Darcy accepts that he’s obviously not going to fess up about what everyone had been saying in the quinjet. She’ll just hope it wasn’t anything too bad.

“I suspected.”

“Okay, well, let’s just take the chili. There’s enough for everyone. And maybe you might need to change?” She suggests, looking him up and down. He’s standing in the middle of her living room in all black, wearing more weapons than she would think were necessary but he doesn’t tell her how to science so she keeps that observation to herself. 

“Shit.” Bucky rubs a hand over his face. 

“I’ll take it as a sign everything went well,” Darcy smiles. “It did, right?”

“It did.” 

Darcy and Jane eat too much chili while Thor, Bucky, and Clint try to install the replacement shower Thor had express ordered after an attempt to replace the showerhead had ended in mass destruction. 

Darcy has a belly full of comfort food and is surrounded by attractive men in toolbelts, the most of attractive of which keeps giving her looks that fill her with heat that has nothing to do with the extra pepper she’d put in the crock pot this morning. 


	33. Chapter 33

“We’re definitely coming back here,” Darcy squeezes between the arm of Thor’s chair and Bucky’s knee, back from greeting a couple she’d recognized across the room.

Bucky had been watching her the whole time. He is physically unable to do anything else, when she’s wearing that dress. Dress snazzy, she’d told him this afternoon. 

The Whiskey Tasting class is very different from any of the other classes they’d attended together. Sure, they’d tasted different whiskeys, and a guy in a plaid bow tie had stood to give a quick talk. But it’s pretty obvious this is a social event for attendees, and a money maker for the swanky bar on what would otherwise be a slow night.

There are no eager to learn people here, dressed in jeans and maybe touting a notebook. Everyone is dressed up and paying more attention to each other than their drinks.

Bucky is one hundred percent okay with it, because Darcy’s wearing a green velvet number that hugs her curves and has an open back that drapes low enough to have him imagining ways he could get her to himself every time she turns around.

Or walks.

Or looks at him.

He’s got it bad and he’s pretty sure Jane is laughing at him. 

“Okay?” Darcy asks, voice low. She trails her fingers over his arm as she retakes her seat. Bucky really wishes they’d gotten here early enough to snag one of the sofas so she could sit right next to him. 

Bucky leans forward in his seat and motions her forward. 

She humors him. 

“You’re killin’ me, doll.” 

She pauses mid-sip, the twenty year old Scotch that is supposed to have floral and sherry notes, and her eyes meet his over the rim of her glass. Her cheeks flush before she straightens her shoulders and winks at him, “Good. That was the plan.”

“Have a little mercy,” Bucky says, drawing her hand up to his lips to lay a lingering kiss on her knuckles. Her flush darkens when he nips his teeth over her skin, and Bucky nearly groans. 

“Hello!” Jane holds out another pair of drinks for Bucky and Darcy, inches from Bucky’s nose. “Welcome back to public, where you have been this whole time.”

“You’re one to talk,” Darcy grumbles, but she does pull her hand free. 

Bucky accepts the drinks as Darcy tosses hers back. 

“You never told me how you guys got in here,” Darcy sets her empty glass aside. “They book solid days after they start taking reservations.”

“You think they would turn away the Prince of Asgard?” Thor asks with a bemused smile.

“You didn’t,” Jane says, turning to face him.

“I did, and they did. I was, however, able to bribe the noble barkeep with a sampling of some of the finest meads in the galaxy.”

“No wonder we’re getting such good service,” Darcy says as a waiter quickly whisks their empties away and leaves another tray of tiny but delicious appetizers. Bucky snags a couple of the asparagus fennel ones before Jane takes them all again.

Then almost drops them in his lap when Darcy leans farther forward to reach the tray.

The neck of that dress is in no way plunging or risque, but there is truly something nearly obscene in the way the soft swell of her breasts strains gently against the green velvet. Just a small overflow of creamy, delicate skin that is unbelievably tantalizing. 

“We should dance,” Jane suggests and Bucky just knows she saw where his attention had strayed. On the one hand, he’s a trained spy who had outsmarted Natasha Romanoff on more than one occasion. On the other hand, as Darcy would say, he can’t find a fuck to give. 

“Talk to me?” He offers Darcy his hand.

“You did not,” she says incredulously, but her eyes flick towards the dancing couples.

“I did.”  They’d danced once before, weeks back when she’d tried a cocktail recipe for something called a Singapore Sling. She’d been hesitant, telling him she didn’t know how to dance for real. She’d been embarrassed and halting, abnormal for her, but had loosened up towards the end. He hopes she’ll trust him now.

“Just… Don’t let me embarrass myself, okay?” she puts her hand in his, eyes on the dance floor up near the small stage. 

“Too late, I’ve seen you huffing lemonberry muffin fumes straight out of the bag before you’ve even paid for them.” Bucky tells her, guiding her ahead of him with one hand and settling the other on her hip. Wrapping curves that supple in velvet? 

“Watch it, Barnes.” She gives him a dark look over her shoulder, but her smirk gives her away. As they reach the dance floor, Bucky is pretty damn sure he’s the luckiest man in New York.

He slows her with the hand on her hip, stepping up close behind her so he can whisper in her ear. “There isn’t a single thing you could do in that dress to embarrass yourself.”

She turns, eyes wide. “You just jinxed me! Now I’m going to fall on my ass and rip my dress up the back and down the side and a boob will pop out!”

He can’t help it, he laughs. Then he spins her out from him, “I’d never let you fall, sunshine.”

She scowls at him as he spins her back.

“And there’s not a single person that would be laughing at your breasts,” he says into her ear, one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her back to his front.

“Who knew sleeping with you would turn you into such a horndog?”

“You need pretty words?” Bucky leads her the rest of the way onto the dance floor and gently guides her into a slow dance. “I’ll give you pretty words, Darce. I’ve got hundreds of ‘em for you.”

“Wanna hear that you’ve got a beautiful voice? Even on voicemails?” She rolls her eyes, but Bucky keeps going. “It’s true. I love those voicemails you leave me about people who annoyed you on the elevator and the intern with the squeaky shoes and what color you think the weather is.”

“Shut up,” she whispers.

“Mmm, and when you blush, like right now? I love your complexion, and how easy your cheeks flush. You look so fuckin’ gorgeous, and when it gets dark, like now?” Bucky watches as her blush spreads, but she holds his gaze, “I know another way I can get it this dark. You know the last time your cheeks were this color?”

Her lips part and her eyes are nearly glowing with intensity. 

Bucky closes the distance between them, lowering his head so his lips are brushing her ear, “You were on top of me, your hands were holding mine, your head was thrown back.”

He steps back again and she almost follows him. 

“Darcy, you’re so smart it blows my mind. I’m just some jerk from Brooklyn and you scribble equations that unlock the whole universe on diner napkins when I take you out for a burger.” Bucky guides her into another twirl, “You always smell delicious and it drives me crazy, I never know what you’re gonna say next and it keeps me on my toes, and days that end with you in my arms on the couch are the best days.”

“I’m buying like four bottles of whatever scotch that was.” 

“It’s not the scotch.”

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“I fully expect you to start helping me out of this dress the second the elevator doors close behind Jane and Thor.”

“Like the night was gonna end any other way.”

“Okay,” she tips into him, tucking her face into his neck for a second. He can feel her taking deep, steady breaths, the air puffing against his skin. He keeps them moving, swaying slowly. After a minute, she straightens, “Okay, I need another drink. And then we need to pick things up a bit.”

They find an open space at the bar. Bucky lets her take the seat and stands behind her. When the bartender approaches, he’s already got drinks for them in hand.

“Troy says you guys need to try this. We’ve got two more for your friends.” 

Bucky glances down the bar to the head bartender, who tips his glass to him. He misses most of the description, but he gets a pretty clear picture that Thor’s bribe to gain entry had been well appreciated. 

When the bartender is called away again, Darcy sits back in her chair and talks out of the corner of her mouth, “Can you taste any of that?”

“Not a bit,” Bucky replies with a smile. The bartender had mentioned honey and clover and hints of floral notes.

“But I don’t mind practicing,” Darcy takes another sip. “Seems like this would go pretty good with music and cooking on Saturday nights.”

Bucky thinks a drink like this, that warms you all the way through, on Saturday night when Darcy likes to stay in and and go to bed early in preparation for Sundays sounds pretty damn perfect. He flags the bartender down again and asks about where he can buy a bottle.

Then he spins Darcy around the dance floor, reveling in her smiles and laughter. He takes Jane out for a few turns too, and they try to teach Thor a few moves. 

They end up getting an after-hours tour of the specialty shop the owner operates next door, full of fancy cheeses, smoked meats, and shelves upon shelves of alcohol. Thor and Jane spend time at the cheese counter, making several selections. Bucky picks up three bottles, one to take the piss out of Steve because it’s named Captain’s Delight and it’s got a falcon swooping over the label.

Darcy comes around the end of the aisle, two brown paper wrapped packages in the crook of her arm and a bottle of amber liquid in her hand. “Do I want to know what put that look on your face? I kid, I do.”

He twists the bottle so she can see the label.

She snorts and then looks at his other two selections, “Wait, you’re only buying one? No, you gotta get two. Where did you find it?”

“Why do I need two?”

“One to give to them, one to display, obviously.” She spies the right shelf and plucks up another bottle with a grin. 


	34. Chapter 34

Darcy is on her way back to the lab, clutching two coffees. It’s been hard to get back into the swing of a work day for both Jane and Darcy and coffee had seemed like the perfect idea.

She hadn’t bothered Bucky, he’d seemed a little standoffish as the deadline for Steve’s arrival loomed closer. She wouldn’t say he’s dreading it, but his therapy appointments had certainly unpacked a lot of shit when it comes to his relationship with Steve. She does have plans for him tonight though, she’d slathered on her favorite lotion. She uses it sparingly because it’s shockingly expensive, but it’s sumptuous and smells like rich chocolate. 

Now that she knows he notices, she’s been having fun with her lotions and perfumes.

With no Bucky, she’d ended up with Mahajan. He’s one of her favorites, if she had to pick one of the security agents. He’s kind and usually seems happy enough to be where he is. Plus, one time he’d picked up a bouquet for his girlfriend when they were at the farmer’s market.

Also he calls her Chief. That’s pretty cool.

He’d given her a little salute when they’d parted ways at the security desk, slurping at his own coffee. 

Darcy is thinking about the lunch she’d packed while the elevator climbs. Tamale Pie. Her stomach grumbles and she’s considering trying to convince Jane to take an early lunch when something suddenly feels off.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

The coffees end up on the floor and Darcy’s got her hand halfway to her taser, even as her mind notes the bracelet at her wrist that can be weaponized, her attacker’s position and possible weaknesses, and what floor she’s on. 

Then a second later the adrenaline rush abruptly cuts off and she curses. “Damnit Nat!”

The two plastic cups are on their sides on the floor, light brown frappe splattered over the plush carpet. For a brief second, the cheesecake scene from Friends flashes through her mind.

“That was impressive reaction time though.”

“Shut up, you heinous bitch, those had the chocolate whipped cream.” Darcy rubs a hand over her chest where her heart still races. 

“I’ll buy replacements if you tell me why.”

“You’ll buy replacements because it’s the bare minimum of acceptable apologies.” Darcy grumbles. 

“I’ve got some of those disgusting peanut butter roasted pecans you like. You can eat them while we walk.” Natasha presses the button to cancel Darcy’s floor selection, but the elevator slows while her finger hovers over the lobby button.

“Fine,” Darcy huffs, turning to actually face Natasha. Her hair is different, cut to just over her shoulders and choppy in a way that looks effortlessly graceful in a Grace Kelly kind of way, but would have Darcy looking like she’d taken the scissors to her own head after a few glasses of wine. She’s wearing the sweater Darcy had given her, with the tiny knife and revolver pattern, discernible and damn near preppy from a distance. Darcy recognizes that it could be a ploy to bring up good memories and feelings on Darcy’s part, but it works anyway. 

“I did miss you, you know.”

“I did not know,” Natasha sniffs, “How could I, when I never hear from you?”

“Sweet Frigga woman, lay off, what are you, my grandma?”

“Do you not call your grandmother?”

“I meant with the guilt-trips, and you know it.” Darcy pops the collar on her coat back up. It actually feels like winter out there. Something bumps against her boot as she digs a knit hat back out of her purse. It’s one of Tony’s marginally helpful cleaning bots. She shuffles back to give it room and watches her delicious beverages get hoovered by souped up Roombas. “You’ve been away too long. I mean, you’re making a good effort here, but I can still hear the super spy in your voice.”

“Hm,” Natasha hums as they leave the cleaning bots and the elevator behind. She hands Darcy a cellophane wrapped bag of nuts from a fancy shop Darcy had found during on of her visits to DC. 

She struggles to open the bag as Natasha retrieves a coat from a wall panel that looked merely decorative but actually hid almost an entire new identity. The plastic is hard to grip, and super loud. Inside, the nuts are perfect golden brown clusters and they tease her as she  _ crinkle crinkle crinkle  _ can’t fucking open the stupid bag. 

She finally takes her teeth to it, dodging Natasha’s reaching hand. This is between her and the asshole bag now, and she will win this. 

The bag finally rips open and Darcy manages to catch the one nut cluster that flies free. Reflexes, yeah.

“Impressive,” Natasha deadpans.

“Shut it, you. Your hair looks good,” Darcy says as her nerves finally vanquish the last of the adrenaline rush. 

“I know.”

“Maybe you should get a bad haircut sometime,” Darcy suggests. Natasha is weird about looking good. It’s been such a tool for her for so long, and more often than not it exposes easy weaknesses in those who are interested in her.

Like Darcy’s green dress. It had been  _ fun  _ twisting Bucky up, watching him watch her. She’d felt gorgeous and powerful and free and it had made things between them feel intimate. But she’s pretty sure despite entrancing hundreds and men and women, Natasha’s never felt like that. 

Natasha turns to look at her, brows drawn together slightly. “I have had bad haircuts. For jobs.”

“I just thought maybe you could throw yourself off your game for a while.”

“Like a challenge?” Natasha’s lips twitch. “I once seduced the prince of a small European country while I was covered in sheep excrement.”

“No, not like a challenge. Not for work. Like, for a vacation from work. Bad hair cut, schlumpy sweat pants for a week, no seducing. Anyone.”

“This sounds suspiciously like an extended lazy weekend. I venture there would be no shoes, all junk food, and at least one excessively long movie.”

“No, but we haven’t done one of those in a really long time.” Darcy tucks her chin against the sharp wind. There had been training, and more training, and then Darcy hadn’t wanted to spend anymore time than necessary with Natasha, especially when the junk food would have been a hard no. 

Darcy studies Natasha, walking next to her. Natasha’s hands are jammed into her pockets, and her short wavy bob lifts on the breeze. Becoming friends with Nat had been a surprise. And a slow process. At first, Natasha had been just another security escort. One Darcy liked better than the others - an Avenger meant  she and Jane had just one person, Stark Security meant at least a team of two. 

It was several assignments before Darcy noticed the sly sense of humor Natasha had. It was a solitary kind of humor, things done for the woman’s own entertainment, but shared with a smirk when it became clear that Darcy had caught on. 

Then it had been breakfast, because Jane’s priorities upon waking were caffeine and science, with lunch being determined by how loud her stomach got. 

Darcy realizes breakfast had kind of been a turning point with Bucky too and makes a mental note for befriending standoffish assassins. Then again, Bucky hadn’t really been standoffish once they’d officially met. 

“Why have you distanced yourself from me?”

Abruptly Darcy realizes that a good portion of her conflicted feelings concerning Natasha are guilt, resulting from the terrible way she’d handled this. Natasha had been pushy and too much and difficult, but she didn’t deserve Darcy ghosting on her. Especially not when Darcy suspects the other woman has a difficult time making non-work friends.

“I was upset and overwhelmed and I didn’t handle it well. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” Natasha’s tone is moderated and dismissive. Darcy’s heart sinks though, because she’s been friends with Natasha for a year. She may not be able to read the woman’s every facial expression, not even close, but she does know enough to be able to tell when she’s being purposefully neutral. 

“It’s not. You’re one of my best friends. You’re important to me, Nat.” Maybe one of the reasons her friendship with Natasha worked so well is that Natasha required bluntness, and that was Darcy’s specialty. Natasha had heard plenty of flowery words and more than her fair share of attempts at emotional manipulation - all that was left was leaving absolutely no doubt and telling the explicit truth. 

“This is about your training.” Natasha purses her lips in distaste. “Clint told me that I could be a little bit pushy.”

Darcy looks down at the sidewalk, but when she looks up Natasha is smirking, well aware that there is nothing ‘a little bit’ about it. “I was getting it from two sides, you and Thor. Three sides. Me. I had to come to terms with my opinion of myself, and what outcome I’d really be okay with.”

“I am sorry as well. I will try to listen better in the future. Our friendship is important to me too. I will remove myself from your training, remaining only as a friend.”

“This talk was so much easier than the one with Thor,” Darcy says with no small amount of relief. “I’ve switched to maintaining, Wanda and I still jog, sometimes Thor comes along, we stop for doughnuts at the halfway point, we’d love it if you kept coming with us.”

“Of course. I worried you wouldn’t want me along anymore,” Natasha holds out her hand, silently requesting some of the pecans, just like Darcy had known she would. 

“You might have been ‘a little bit pushy’, but I understand where it was coming from. Neither of us handled it very well, but I hope that we’ll always be friends, even when we disagree.”

“Oh, it’s very difficult to get rid of me once I’ve befriended you. Just ask Clint. And Steven.” 

“Ooooh,  _ Steven _ . Do I sense a disturbance in the force?” 

“No, he’s only a stubborn idiot who refuses to be happy.” 

“Bucky said he’s interested in someone but not going for it,” Darcy says as she reaches the coffee shop door for the second time today. This time there’s a long line of people in professional clothes, their bodies strung tight with impatience as they peck away at their phones. 

“Oh, he went for it when I locked them in safe room in an abandoned facility, but now he’s pretending like nothing happened and at this point it will be a miracle if he hasn’t squandered his chance.” 

The music in the coffee shop has changed, Liz Phair murmurs and wails from the speakers perched high on the shelves over the coffee counter. 

“Maybe James can talk some sense into him.” Natasha folds one arm around her middle as she studies the menu. “The two of you have talked?”

“You know how Jaaaaa- Certain people,” Darcy corrects, remembering she’s in public and how easily things become a ‘sources say’ in gossip columns, “are excessively loud during certain activities? Well, I switched apartments and Bucky’s my neighbor.”

Natasha looks at Darcy in surprise, “Oh? And how is that going?”

“At first, if you had been around I would have paid you to beat him up. But now,” Darcy gives her a significant look, and waggles her eyebrows, “I would say that it is going very,  _ very _ well.”

“Steven Rogers is an idiot,” Natasha hisses. “Oh, you won't miss anything. Oh, it will just be Tony, Bruce, and Jane pretending they aren’t friends. Oh, I couldn’t tell if someone was flirting with me if they slapped me across the face with it and gave me flowers.”

“She’ll take a nut up frappe, and I need a willy vanilly and a death by chocolate, extra chocolate.” Darcy says as the barista eyes Natasha warily.

“Back again?” they ask, a chunk of blue hair falling into their eyes.

“There was a tragic accident,” Darcy explains as Natasha hands over a debit card. 

When their drinks are slung onto the pick-up counter, Darcy’s has chocolate whipped cream forming a tower out of the domed top of her cup. The barista winks before turning back to the espresso machine. 

“This is how my life is supposed to be,” Darcy tells Natasha, picking up her chocolate sauce swirled masterpiece. 

“It does appear that all is right in your world.” 

“Now that we’re good again, it is looking that way.” Darcy admits with a happy sigh. 

“Tell me what I’ve missed, starting with why you would have needed my services.” Natasha demands as they step back out onto the deceptively sunny street. 


	35. Chapter 35

“I can’t believe that worked,” Jane knocks over a pile of minutes old readings to instead snatch up the brand new ones. 

“I told you, I’m a genius.” Darcy edges around the avalanche of paper, looking for her lunch. It had been a pretty slow day until Darcy’s brainwave. To be honest, Nat’s appearance had pricked Darcy’s little bubble of make believe. 

The one where she had some kind of super casual thing going on with her super hot neighbor.

She’d been surprisingly okay with it though. Because she knows Bucky, right? They’ve been hardcore dating without calling it that, and things are going pretty damned good, if Darcy does say so herself. And she thinks she does. 

“You’ll be a genius when you can explain  _ why  _ that worked,” Jane mutters as she attacks the data with a red marker. 

Darcy finds a sweater crammed in the middle filing cabinet drawer. They don’t keep any paperwork now, but the thing is fireproof and has functioned as a kind of catchall for years now. “Do I have to do everything around here? You figure out why.”

Jane mumbles a thanks when Darcy drapes another sweater over her shoulders. The experiment had sucked all the heat from the room. As the machines slowly shut down again, Darcy had been able to see her breath. The heating systems are hard at work, but for now goosebumps are still a thing.

With a wince, she checks the time. Nat would hold her to her promise of dinner tonight, and would straight up cut power to the lab if Darcy tried to make her wait. Back in the day, Nat had gone undercover as Pepper’s assistant and the two share a strong bond. Which means FRIDAY would totally take Nat’s side.

Darcy edges along the antenna array. They’d spent a lot of time, and Tony had created about fifteen different solutions,  working to keep the thing standing. No matter what they tried, keeping it upright meant damage to the delicate gauges and meters. So it always tips by the end of an event, but it has arms that keep the delicate parts from colliding with anything. It still bothers Tony, but he’s accepted (for now) that he’s not allowed to touch it.

As she stands it back up, the readings start streaming over different display screens. 

Aw, yeah. They look good. Really fucking good. 

“Dr. Foster? Hi.”

Darcy stands up so fast she knocks the back of her head against one of the metal arms. Fuck! Slapping a hand over the throbbing spot, she turns because that sounded a lot like…

“Steve! Hi!” Jane looks between her readings and Steve three times, obviously torn, but finally sets her stack of paper aside. “I told you to call me Jane.”

Sweet Frigga, she’s nervous. Darcy wipes suddenly clammy hands against the sides of her sweater. Then she remembers what a mess the sweater is - the warmest, softest, best lab sweater in the world was found in a strip mall flea market near Culver, and it has huge floppy crocheted daisies covering it, decades of existence leaving them sagging all over the place in varying shades of off-white.

Darcy ducks behind the antenna array and shrugs out of the sweater. She feels silly, but Steve is ridiculously important to Bucky. If she’s actually going to make a go of it with Bucky, Steve is gonna be around. 

And first impressions matter. 

What the fuck, it’s not a job interview. Yes, hello Captain America. I’m applying for the position of your best friend’s girlfriend. I’ve got all the necessary experience and I’m quite certain if you check my reviews you’ll find I’ve gotten all satisfactories.  Also, I already know about that spot on his collar bone. 

Hell.

Darcy rolls her eyes at herself and steps out from behind the array. 

“Oh. Hello,” Steve smiles at her, somewhat abashedly. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m looking for Bucky? FRIDAY said he comes down here sometimes.”

Why, why, why the fuck did her brain just supply her with the words ‘he  _ does  _ go down here sometimes’? Oh god, she’s a walking disaster. What the fuck?

“Uh, he hasn’t stopped in today.” Jane smiles, giving Darcy a get your shit together look over her shoulder before turning a smile on Steve.

“Darn.” Steve says, adorably. He then gives Darcy a nod. “It’s Darby, right?”

Darcy stutters out half a laugh before she realizes… he’s not joking. He’s. Not. Joking.

“Darcy! She’s Darcy!” Jane blurts. “Dr. Darcy Lewis, my colleague and friend.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, Dr. Lewis.” He actually flushes, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been away, and I’m a little rusty, I’m afraid.”

“Darcy’s fine,” she manages faintly. Because he’s still looking at her with that polite kind of expression. No spark of recognition. 

He has no idea who she is. Bucky hasn’t told him about her. Bucky, who had told her that a lot of things didn’t make sense until he told Steve about it, and it had been that way before the war and everything that followed. 

What does that mean? She doesn’t make sense? She’s not important enough to have told Steve about? She  _ is  _ just a fling? A convenient, in-building, security-cleared one? One that had started picturing brunch with his friends and maybe possibly bringing him home to meet the parents?

There’s not much she can do about the rush of doubt that fills her, tainting all of the hopeful thoughts and self assuredness she’d begun to develop. She’s been here before. Darcy is a feelings kind of person. It’s either no feelings, or all of the feelings. 

Clingy, needy, too much. She’s heard all those complaints and more in her past relationships. Darcy tends to fall fast or not at all. In or out. It often takes others a bit to catch up. 

“Okay, well, no Bucky here,” Jane breaks in, and Darcy blinks.

“I see that. Sorry again for interrupting.” Steve gives them a small waist high wave on his way out.

“That was weird, right? So weird,” Jane says as soon as the lab doors swish shut behind him. “And I can see by, well, all of you right now, that you’re kind of freaking out. But I’m sure there’s an explanation for whatever that just was. Right?”

“Weird.” Darcy drops into the nearest chair. 

“But there’s probably a reason. I mean, Steve’s in DC for a reason right? They’re supposed to be having some space?”

“They had a forty-five minute discussion about baseball teams yesterday during lunch. Can they still root for the Dodgers even though they left? No way they can root for the Yankees, but the Mets? What does LA have anyway, that Brooklyn doesn’t?” Darcy wraps her arms around herself, cold again without her sweater. First impressions, ha!

“Okay. So this is kind of bad. But, whatever you’re thinking, maybe try to only think it half as much? Because I’m telling you, I think you and Bucky are the real thing. So does Thor.” Jane digs another sweater from the filing cabinet and tosses it at Darcy.

“Shut up,” Darcy replies. Maybe this morning those words would have made her feel happy, but now she just feels kind of stupid. 

She’d ushered him into her life, little by little. He had a favored mug at her place, a western themed one with a pistol for a handle. He’s got a place on her couch, a side of her bed, a texting relationship with Jane based on being her repairman side piece. 

This kind of one-sidedness would have raised all kinds of red flags, but she’d been able to rationalize all of them. He’s still recovering from being in and out of a cryotube for decades, which kind of explains the lack of friends and family to introduce her to. His apartment is more like a hotel room than a home, so it makes sense that they prefer hers. 

But Steve is a big deal. They text almost every day, Bucky watches any mission footage he can get his hands on, and after a shitty therapy session, a call to Steve usually does a lot to smooth things over.

Darcy had maybe kind of been imagining having Steve over for dinner. Maybe even somewhat regularly once he moved back to the tower. 

But to Steve, she’s nobody. 

And she can’t help but wonder what that means about what she is to Bucky. 


	36. Chapter 36

“So I figured you were busy earlier when you didn’t text me back,” Bucky says from somewhere behind her. 

She’d heard the door open, and FRIDAY hadn’t given her a head’s up, so the possibilities had been Jane, Thor, or Bucky. The bitter part of her wonders what her security clearance is at his place.

Darcy rolls her eyes at herself, because the ex-brainwashed super soldier gets a pass on keeping his place secure. Then she refocuses on her pie dough. Dessert had sounded good after her dinner with Nat.

“And then I heard you went out with Natasha,” Bucky continues. “But then Steve said he met you today, and the radio silence started to seem suspect. Doll?”

Darcy shrugs her shoulder, suddenly biting back tears. 

“C’mon Darce, tell me what you’re thinkin’.” He steps up behind her, the feel of him familiar now. His arms wrap around her middle and he nestles his chin on her shoulder. “Missed you today.”

“He called me Darby.”

“ _ Darby _ ? Bucky repeats. “Christ, he’s the worst at meeting women. I swear.”

“And I’ve just been thinking about how we’re even now, you know? I mean look at my place? And we never go to your place, or out with your friends or anything. And I was thinking about us going to brunch with Steve, but I don’t even have a toothbrush at your place.”

“Woah, woah, woah.” He tries to turn her, hands sliding down to grip her hips, but she locks her knees and stands firm, unable to face him. “What is this, huh?”

His voice is tender, the one he uses late at night when they’re wrapped together. Darcy closes her eyes. She really doesn’t want to make a fool of herself right now. If she gives in to the urge to cry, it will all be over. She’ll tell him everything, the patented Darcy Lewis no-filter babble taking over. 

Darcy just shakes her head, swallowing past the stupid knot in her throat. 

“Do you think I wouldn’t want us to do brunch with Steve? Or the whole damn world, for that matter? Do you think I don’t want  _ us _ ? Is that what’s happening right now?” Bucky sounds incredulous. “Jesus fuck, you think I didn’t tell Steve about us because- damnit, Darce- just-”

He releases her and the warm pressure of him pressed against her back disappears. Darcy turns in disbelief, that he’d just walk away, in time to see him stalk down the hallway. 

Darcy grabs a tea towel to wipe the flour off her hands, because hell no is he leaving it at that. 

She gets about two rain-down-hellfire steps across the kitchen when he comes back out of the hallway, long strides eating up the distance between them. 

“Is that my toothbrush?” 

“Yep.” 

“Bucky you can’t- What?! Put me down!” Darcy scrabbles for a grip, now slung over his shoulder. “No, no, put my toothbrush back and let’s talk.”

He ignores her, carrying her through the living room. His shoulder bone is biting into her stomach, and his hand is wrapped around the back of her thigh holding her in place. 

She gives a desperate wiggle when he opens the front door. “Where are we going? Put me down you idiot!” 

“Nope.” Bucky is unaffected by her struggles, pulling the door shut behind him. 

She’s only slightly relieved when he turns towards his door instead of the elevator. At least, she stops struggling. Her relief that no one will see her ass in the air as she’s ingloriously slumped over his shoulder is short lived, as only steps into his apartment she realizes she’s wrong.

“Steve!” Bucky calls, stomping to the living room. “This is Darcy, my girlfriend. I’m in love with her. Get out.”

Darcy’s squawking indignation dies a fast death. 

“Unless you have something to tell us about Wilson? No?” Bucky turns for his bedroom. “Then get out.”

Darcy catches sight of Steve, awkwardly halfway to his feet. She waves like an idiot, dazed. 

“Oh, and we’re going to brunch tonight. Maybe you can invite Wilson.” Bucky kicks the door shut behind him and tosses her onto his bed.

“You can’t do brunch at night,” Darcy tells him, head spinning.

“Says who? My girl wants brunch, she gets brunch. Now, I figure we’ll have the same sides as we do in your bed. I leave your spot empty anyway,” he says, already walking away. His voice carries from the bathroom, “There. Toothbrush at my place. Right there next to mine.”

Darcy flips over, pulling her shirt back into place. Her eye catches on his nightstand. The one on ‘his’ side.

“You kept old Hank,” she says, eyes tracing the pathetically re-glued back together alligator. 

“Course I did,” Bucky crawls onto the bed next to her, the mattress dipping under his weight. “The way I see it, Old Hank here introduced me to the most gorgeous, grumpiest, smartest dame this lucky bastard is ever gonna meet.”

“Grumpiest?” 

“You know it, Sunshine.”

Darcy rolls eyes that are suddenly burning for an entirely different reason. “You’re a sap, Bucky Barnes.”

“Your sap, if you’ll have me.”

“I mean, I guess. If I have tmmmphhh.” 


End file.
